


Dare to love (me)

by xMilaax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/F, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Hermione Granger, Lesbian Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Near Death, Post-War, Pre-Epilogue, Romance, Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Veela (Harry Potter), Work In Progress, all around lesbians, but no mates, but probably not, hopefully, i hate mates, too sexy to describe, who can tell?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xMilaax/pseuds/xMilaax
Summary: Two broken women found each other at a bar. Then at a wedding. And at a coffee-shop. They keep finding each other through (and despite) lost marriages and lost dreams. Maybe all is lost, and Fleur can't handdle a job that asks for more than she could possibly give, and Hermione just don't have it in her to fight any longer for herself. Still they find each other. Now they only have to dare.





	1. Red wine

**Author's Note:**

> First thing, you should know I'm not a native speaker. I'm a speaker who likes to speak english aloud for fun. I've written before, but never this fandom, and I hope they are not too OOC, I really do. Also, I don't have a beta (I do take volunteers, though hahaha), so all mistakes are mine.  
> This will mature to sex eventually. (hehehe, this is for warning purposes but also marketing, I confess.) Also drama. Lots of drama. (this is not for marketing, but you never know, lesbians do like their drama [I'm one, I can say it]).  
> Finally, I do realize the summary sucks.  
> Now, brace your eyes:

“From the man with the blue jacket.” The bartender slid the drink towards her, winking before quickly busying himself with a very used rag, scrubbing the bar balcony as he had been doing for the past hour, subtly glancing her at every opportunity; that is, when he wasn’t fixing free drinks for her. She was pretty sure half of the bar had, at least, already attempted to send her something.

She didn’t bother to glance at the man who paid her the Apple Martini. She softly swirled the glass with her fingers before taking a sip from it. She decided she’d keep it when she felt the sweet flavor dance inside her mouth. A loud cheer was heard and she couldn’t be sure, obviously, but would bet her new Jimmy Choos that it had come from the man. He must have been watching her reject the majority of the drinks sent to her over the last sixty minutes.

She could care less, though. Between the very-eager-to-please-men and the fool-no-one-bartender, she started to wonder why she’d thought coming to a muggle bar was such a great idea. One would think her thrall would be weaker in muggles. One couldn’t be more mistaken. Just like wizards, they were the same drooling idiots. And one of them was making his way over her that exact moment. She eyed him sideways. Blue jacket. She groaned to herself. The Apple Martini wasn’t even that good.

“Excus-”

One icily glare was enough, thankfully. She raised an eyebrow and stared him down until the color disappeared from the man’s face and he mumbled apologies at her. 

She flipped her hair with a huff and turned back to her original position as he all but stumbled out of her sight. The man almost managed to utter a whole word; she had to give him some credit. Most of them just seemed to lose the ability to talk altogether when facing her. She then proceeded to sulk; grumbling inaudibly about how hard could be having some time for herself.

“Fleur…?”

She snapped her head to the side when she heard the familiar voice.

 “Hermione,” She smiled more out of manners and anything else. Here she was, assuming the only ones that could possibly disturb her solitude moment were muggles.

“I didn’t expect to find you here…”

 _Likewise_ , she scorned in her head.  

Hermione shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncertain of what to do next. Perhaps Fleur was disturbing her solitude moment too? She looked into deep pools of chocolate before deciding not make the situation any more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Would you like to join me?” She pointed to the empty stool beside her.

“I…” Hermione hesitated. Fleur wondered for a second if, should she pay attention, she’d hear the gears and engines running inside the brunette’ brain. “Yes, why not?”

 _Why not indeed._ The blonde noted, quite aware that Hermione hadn’t found a plausible excuse to refuse her invitation.

“Care for a drink? It’s on me.” _Or well, almost_.Fleur motioned to the aligned glasses she had decided to keep.

 “Thank you.” The brunette took a reddish drink with tentative fingers.

Hermione didn’t comment on the reason she had such amount of alcohol before her, and for that she was grateful. The woman just sipped the cosmopolitan quietly, her eyes trained on the glass.

“How is life treating you?” Fleur asked out of a sense of duty. They weren’t family anymore, _per se_ … but had been for quite a while. Also, Hermione would still visit the Weasley’s from time to time. One might think her and Ron’s break up would be an inconvenience, but not for the oh-so-mature Hermione Granger. How many times had she heard that word leave Molly Weasley’s mouth? You never should have let her go, Ronald Weasley, she’d say. When you’ll find such an intelligent, nice and _mature_ girl like her again, Ronald Weasley?

If she weren’t (it pained her to even think of it) jealous of the woman, she’d pity the poor redhead. But she wasn’t immune to the eventual pangs of jealousy. Even after breaking her youngest son’s heart, Molly was still greatly devoted to the brunette. And even after four years being married to her oldest son, the woman would still watch Fleur warily, as if expecting her to make a mistake, to say something wrong. Not that it matter, anyway. Not anymore.

“I can’t complain,” Hermione answered, breaking her train of thought. The brunette didn’t look up, apparently finding the cherry on the bottom of the glass far more interesting. “Yours?”

“Oh… you know…” Fleur trailed off, her airy tone seeming artificial even in her own ears.

She berated herself inside her head. How hard could it be saying _“Great, thank you”_?

 “How is Bill?” The brunette asked in what Fleur thought to be an attempt to break the ice. She couldn’t possibly know that there wasn’t any worst subject at the moment, right?

“Same old, same old,” She murmured, tracing her fingers around the rim of her Apple Martini glass, finding herself abhorring apples.

Hermione tilted her head in acknowledgement before resuming her action to stare intently at her drink.

“You visit muggle bars a lot?” Fleur asked after a minute. She had just felt compelled to say something… anything ought to be better than awkward silence.

“I suppose,” Hermione shrugged.  “They’re great places to let off some steam.”

Fleur hummed understandingly. For a muggle-born it made a lot of sense to go collect their thoughts in a muggle bar. For a veela, on the other hand…

“I’ve never entered this place, though. There is a pub one block away that has the best margaritas,” Hermione continued softly.

Fleur released a somehow relieved breath. The brunette wouldn’t pry away her reasons or her presence there - which was, admittedly, a little strange. For what Fleur had grasped of her, she’d always been quite curious, that woman.

“I’ve never took you for a margarita kind of girl,” The blonde quipped, eagerly taking whatever chance she got to fly further and further away from dangerous subjects.

“Oh,” Hermione raised an eyebrow, amused. “What have you taken me for, Fleur?”

“Hm…” The blonde tapped her own chin. “I’d say white wine kind of girl.”

Hermione snorted.

“White wine sounds awfully like you.”

Fleur smiled her first genuine smile of the night.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Hermione chuckled.

They fell silent again, but for Fleur’s bewilderment, it was neither awkward nor uncomfortable. She gave up finishing the damn martini before placing her first order of the night.

“Well… you were right!” Fleur justified herself when she felt Hermione’s curious gaze upon her.

“So it seems,” The brunette said with a grin.

The blonde hided her smirk with her glass of white wine.

“I don’t, you know…” Fleur caught herself making conversation… again. “Usually come to muggle places.”

“I see,” Hermione wasn’t going to ask, that much was very clear for the veela already. But maybe it was that inquisitive glint in her eyes… Fleur just answered anyway. 

“I wanted to conduct an experiment,” She chuckled. There was a slight chance the alcohol she consumed had started to get into her system. “A social experiment.”

“Perhaps I could help? Have you assessed your results yet?” The brunette seemed too amused, and Fleur could only hope it wasn’t on her expense.

“Oh, ‘Ermione, let me walk you through it first so we can make the best out of your ‘elp, oui?” Fleur drawled, her French accent slipping easily into the words as her tongue was embraced by a comforting alcohol-induced dullness.

“Fair enough,” Hermione smiled and propped her elbow on the balcony, supporting her head on her palm.

“I ‘ave zis problem…sometimes I don’t want to be bother by ze effects of my thrall in others,” She mimicked the woman’s position, leaning close as if she was revealing a secret. “And I assumed it would not ‘ave ze same effect if I was surrounded by muggles. So I ended up ‘ere, eager to put my theory to proof… ” Fleur tucked a lock of blonde hair that insisted to fell in front of her eyes behind her ear. She then brought her glass to her lips, deliberately swallowing its contents. She watched Hermione’s eyes follow her movements, resting upon her lips for a second.

The brunette shook her head once before chuckling softly.

“Have you reached a conclusion?”

“I believe you already know zat answer,” She sighed, pointing to the still untouched drinks again.

 “Well, I’ll have to trust that my assumptions skills can discern as much,” Hermione finished her cosmopolitan and, before she could ask for something else, Fleur handed her another drink.

“I shouldn’t,” Hermione started, eyeing hesitantly at the glass.

Fleur waved the protest off, “Everything will most likely go to waste if ‘ou don’t ‘elp me.”

The brunette still didn’t seem very certain as she accepted the second drink.

“I’m sure your admirers didn’t see how wonderfully sending you drinks could backfire,” Hermione smirked.

“Nonsense. Zey paid for an attractive woman to drink. I’d say zey accomplished zeir goal, non?”

“That must be the most self-centered compliment everyone has ever paid me,” Hermione laughed amicably, her cheeks tinged with pink. “But I do think said admirers would beg to differ.”

Fleur scoffed.

 “Don’t be silly, ‘Ermione.”

“I’m really not,” Hermione answered matter-of-factly, shrugging.

Fleur straightened her back. If she were to read between the lines, sure she’d find praise there. She didn’t expect to feel the heat spreading across her cheeks and neck at the mere notion of it. People praised her for her looks all the time. Why would this one be different?

“It’s mostly ze thrall to blame. Without it-”

 “Now you are just fishing for a compliment,” The brunette interrupted her and smiled.

 “I’m most certainly not!” She huffed with feign offence, her mouth hanging open mockingly.

“Right,” Hermione chuckled.

“I am not!” She insisted forcefully, trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to break across her face, because yes… maybe she was. Not that she was going to admit it in the near future. Or ever.

This time the woman just smirked with a sparkle in eyes, as if she could see right through Fleur, who fought the urge to lower her gaze to her own hands. They faced each other silently and unblinkingly for several seconds, until the peculiar sound of glass breaking somewhere behind them pulled the blonde back to reality.

Fleur cleared her throat, not having expected to share such an intense moment with anybody in that bar, let alone Hermione. “So, are you one of Ginny’s maid of ‘onor?” She blurted out the first random question that came to her mind. Not one of her finest moments, she admitted it.

“Yes,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Luna and I.”

Fleur chuckled.

“You don’t seem very excited.”

“That’s because I’m not,” The brunette answered automatically before stopping dead on her tracks for a second and abruptly turning her neck to look around the place. Once her inspection was completed, she faced Fleur again, giving her a pointed look.

“I am not telling,” She assured, but her smile was definitely impish. Well, she wasn’t about to spill her guts, but there was no problem in having some fun.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Fleur, scrutinizing her carefully.

“You wouldn’t,” The brunette decided with a nod, apparently saying more to herself than to her. “Not if you like your pretty head attached to your neck,” Hermione added the threat a second latter.

Fleur laughed at that, catching herself by surprise at how carefree it has sounded. Now, how long has it been since she had laughed like that?

“One would zink a girl would be excited to play such an important role in her best friends’ wedding,” Fleur teased.

“I was at first,” Hermione sighed. “Now it got tiring. Ginny and Mrs.Weasley planning a wedding together is almost a recipe for disaster, they don’t seem to agree with anything. And Harry is freaking out every now and then at the possibility that Ginny will not want to go through with the wedding. As if!” Hermione scoffed. “She’s too busy trying to drive me and everyone else around her insane to even think about calling off the whole deal.”

 “Zat sounds so much like fun!” Fleur laughed, giving the woman a playful smile.

“I just try to stay away from the crossfire, really,” The brunette deadpanned.

The blonde giggled.

“I know well ‘ow Weasley women behave at weddings,” Fleur tried to sympathize, but immediately regretted it. The bitter taste that started in the pit of her stomach rose up to her throat, and she had to swallow the imaginary lump down again to avoid vomiting right there; or to avoid screaming and throwing the nearest object to the ground. Rather likely to avoid the screaming thing.

Once again brown eyes that seemed to know everything, including what Fleur was thinking, rested upon her distressed blue ones. Hermione smiled softly and that was just too much to bear. She didn’t want any of that; the assumptions, the pity.

She wasn’t to be pitied! And hated every second she had to endure the charade any longer.

Fleur, against her better judgment, ordered another glass of wine. But right now, the numbness the alcohol provided was helping a great deal to keep her inner veela at bay. The rage inside her was boiling and if she didn’t manage it right, a very unpleasant side of her would make an appearance. And that was the last thing she needed there, surrounded by muggles and…well, Hermione. That somehow mattered.

“I’m sure you do,” The brunette whispered after a second and followed Fleur’s lead, ordering herself a margarita.

“You really are a margarita kind of girl, aren’t you?” Fleur giggled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“My date was supposed to meet me here one hour ago,” The brunette confessed out of the blue.

Fleur gaped in surprise at the abrupt turn of events.

“Ze nerve of zat person! ‘Ow could a wizard stood you up?” She scoffed.

“It’s a muggle,” Hermione shrugged and smirked.

 “Well! It’s ‘is lost. You are a delight!” She announced loudly for the whole bar to hear, glaring around.

Hermione blushed and hide behind her hands when a few heads turned, but a second later she was laughing.

“And you are drunk!”

“Poprosterous!” Fleur huffed and flipped her hair, even though she was, indeed, very much drunk.

“ _Preposterous_ you mean?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure,” Hermione chuckled.

“But seriously, zis guy is a ‘uge idiot,” Fleur insisted.

“It’s ok. I’m just hungry, though. We were supposed to eat afterwards,” Hermione grabbed her purse to pay for her margarita, and looked at Fleur after seeming to contemplate for a moment. “Want to grab some late dinner?

Fleur really thought about that for a moment, but after her little and sudden outburst she just felt silly.  She enjoyed Hermione’s company a lot… but just how much more tiptoeing around sensitive subjects was she up for the night?

“Maybe some other time, oui?” She smiled.

Hermione smiled back and nodded, rising from the stool.

“It was nice meeting you,” She stood awkwardly besides the blonde, who also rose on her feet after a second.

“You too,” Fleur answered honestly, leaning in to kiss Hermione’s cheek, but ending up catching more air than skin.

The brunette smiled one last time before heading towards the door. She just took two steps before turning her head and saying behind her shoulder:

“Oh, and Fleur… for future reference? I drink red wine.”


	2. Phlegm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They guys, thank you for the love, i know this is a small fandom but is great to see some faces around here!  
> I want to explain how I'm placing Fleur accent: it will thicken when she's emotional in general.

A couple days later, Fleur received a very much expected letter.

She read the response she received from Madame Maxime, and she didn’t know what to make of it. The headmistress wanted to talk about Fleur’s request in person, rather than by letter. The message was, therefore, very clear – she didn’t want to risk in case the owl was intercepted. Now was that good or bad news? She could only pray for the former, but something in her gut told her otherwise.

Fleur carefully folded the parchment twice, holding it tightly for a second before sighing and putting it inside the nightstand of her side of the bed. Well, the part-veela guessed that now both sides were hers, but she still slept steadily on the right, refusing to cross the imaginary line that delimited what used to be Bill’s side. Sometimes in that state, when she's not yet sleeping, but also not fully conscious, Fleur had the uncanny feeling that someone was occupying the other side of the bed, and would even hear the familiar snores.

But, for two months now, she would wake up just as she had gone to bed: alone.

 

  _“We can’t do zis anymore.” Fleur looked away as the tears welled up in her eyes, her accent thicker than ever. “I… I can’t Bill. Eet ees ‘ard enough at work…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “I don’t want us to resent each other more zan we already do.”_

_Bill sighed, running his calloused hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that never failed to make Fleur’s heart loop in worry. But they were postponing the inevitable, and the fact that Bill was imposing the whole situation on her just made her feel a little less concerned about his sorrow this time._

_“I know. I know.”_

_“I don’t zink ees ‘ealthy zat we continue living together.” Her voice faltered and the strong French accent was still there, a sign of her own emotional stress. Fleur hated when this happened, as it seemed to make whatever she was saying less important. But Bill knew better. “I’ll move out. I can sleep at the Leaky Caldron until our… divorce comes through.”_

_“No. Fleur, no.” Bill said forcefully. “I can’t kick you out of your own home. I’ll go.”_

_“Eet ees your ‘ome too. You were ze one that found zis place. Eet ees more yours than mine.” She retorted, fighting the tears in her eyes, urging them to stop pouring down. “I’ll just get some of my zings.”_

_“No, Fleur! Listen to me. Can't we just talk for a second?” He insisted._

_But she was already making a gesture with her wand and a suitcase came flying from the top of the closet._

_"Stop that!"_

_She paid him no mind as her clothes started arranging itself on the suitcase._

_“Fleur! I said I’ll go!” He grabbed her arm suddenly, making the pile of dresses she was levitating to fall half way from the wardrobe._

_“Bill!” The part-veela yanked her arm away, startled._

_“Sorry…I…” He shifted from foot to foot, his face suddenly as red as his hair._

_“What?” Fleur narrowed her eyes at him. She knew this blush very well, his guilty expression._

_“I…” He was looking everywhere but at her._

_“What ees eet?!” She pressed, her tears finally drying._

_“Forget it, It’s nothing…” He raised his hand, looking apologetic._

_“Tell me ze truth, William!” Fleur demanded harshly._

_He mumbled something, still not facing her._

_“What did you say?”_

_He cleared his throat and said a little louder, but barely above a whisper: “It’s not proper.”_

_“What ees not proper?”_

_“For a woman. A… a married woman… to sleep in a hotel every night.” He once again broke the eye contact uneasily._

_Fleur’s jaw dropped as she finally understood what he was referring to._

_“We’re not even together anymore and you are afraid zey’ll zink I am cheating on you?” She raised her voice, starting to see red._

_“Nobody knows we are not together." Bill muttered._

_"And whose fault ees zat?" She hissed through gritted teeth._

_"I know I asked too much of you. That's why I'll go." He said without missing a beat._

_“No, don't cook up excuses! For you eet ees ok zey zink you’re cheating on me, but not ze other way around, eesn't eet?” Fleur retorted._

_"They won’t think that of me, Fleur. I am a man!” He said, using his ‘I am just being reasonable’ tone on her, which just further ignited Fleur’s fury._

_“What ees zat supposed to mean?” She howled, and the glass of the window cracked suddenly. “Ees zis about your macho ego?”_

_“It’s not like that! It’s just… They will hardly pay any attention to me, you naturally attract more attention and-” Bill answered defensively, having taken several steps away from the enraged veela._

_“Your complexion is anything but inconspicuous, Bill!”  Fleur was aware that mentioning the scars was a low blow, but she could care less at that exact moment._

_Bill’s eyes widened and he averted his look hastily, taking long gulps of air. For what could be minutes, they stayed in silence._

_Fleur slowly started to calm down and regret her poor choice of words._

_“Just leave.” She whispered finally._

 

On the first weeks the blonde would cry, retract her body into a ball and try to control her shoulders from shaking with the force of her sobs. But lately… lately Fleur just woke up despising that very bed, those walls with those damn shells embedded. She came so far as to start to hate the sea mist and the smell of the ocean impregnated inside the house, which was unnerving Fleur to no end. She used to love the beach.

Fleur also used to love the Shell Cottage, but now she felt she couldn't move out fast enough. She still had to wait a few days, and had already started to look for a new place to live. Ideally some bustling, noisy and buzzing with life town. Or… somewhere where the neighbors were not _sea creatures_.

Fleur sat on the edge of the bad to put on her stilettos, the one that made her taller than Bill. She avoided them for too long, for she knew Bill felt uncomfortable to kiss her with that height difference. But as it would be no kissing that night, the woman reasoned, she needn't leave her beautiful heels in the bottom of the closet collecting dust anymore.

It was just a shoe, but when Fleur got up and looked herself in the mirror, the blonde felt empowered. She loved the way that the muscles of her leg flexed but loved even more that untouchable and almost ethereal façade she saw reflecting at her. It was all beautiful lies, obviously, as it doesn't take too much to make her blood boil, but she missed that Fleur sometimes. The cold, proud Fleur. The Fleur that would not be hurt, because nobody had the guts to get close enough to her to make a difference. Truth is, that woman was long, long gone. Even if her marriage was over, she was forever changed. The war had made her soft side blossom, and her walls crumble irreversibly. But just for that night, that fateful night, she wanted a taste of her old persona.

 

When Fleur descended the staircase, Bill was already waiting for her.  She was late and she knew it, but he didn’t seem annoyed.  He just looked at her from head to toe before smiling.

“The wait paid off.” Bill complimented with a soft nod and Fleur gapped at him, surprised by the sudden gentleness. Perhaps she shouldn’t.  Saved from the past weeks, for five years he had always been a nice and kind man. She melted for a second there. Her mask slithered abruptly, washing away some of her resolve.

Fleur stopped in front of him, adjusted his lapel and affectionately tapped his shoulders.

“You look handsome. Your hair is combed, that’s must be a first.” She said bluntly.

“I combed my hair in our wedding too.” Bill quipped, taking her hand.

Fleur froze in her place, her walls suddenly forcing its way up again. The hand enveloping hers felt suddenly too rough, too invasive.

“I…I’m sorry.” He quickly realized his mistake, but didn’t let go of her, on the contrary, he squeezed tighter. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s ok.” Lie.

“Shall we go then?” He cleared his throat.

Fleur just nodded and they apparated at the Burrow.

Her hand was tingling, and she wanted to jerk it out of his grip, but she didn’t. For everyone in that wedding, she and Bill were still a happy couple, so at least on their entrance, they should play the part.

The reception was bigger than she thought, for she’s always seen Harry as a reserved one.  But apparently Ginny Weasley – soon to be Potter – had a lot of acquaintances. Not to mention, she scoffed aloud, the whole Weasley clan had enough people to fill several quidditch fields.

Bill shot an inquisitive glance at her, but she ignored.

Trays filled with drinks floated around the guests, and a band was playing in the corner.

“Bill!” a flash of red hair passed by Fleur and threw herself at the man, who held tight and gave a step back for support.

“Ginny!” Bill laughed, lifting her from the ground and spinning the girl around.

“Don’t do that! You’re going to wrinkle my dress.” Ginny scolded, but she was smiling so wide her lips threatened to rip her cheeks. 

“You’re stunning! Potter is one lucky lad.” Bill said, placing his sister on the floor again.

“But of course.” Ginny rolled her eyes playfully, but a sheepish smile gave her away.

“Hello Fleur, glad you came.” The bride finally turned to Fleur, but her tone, although polite, had lost most of its warmth.

“It’s your big day. It’s all turning out as you expected? I’ve heard you and you mother put a lot of efforts on the party.”

“Yeah… don’t mention. I may or may not have hated her at some point.” Ginny smirked. “But everything turned out decent, I suppose.” She shrugged. 

 “The decoration certainly is … red.” Fleur blurted, as eyes roamed around. She didn’t try very hard to hide her condescension.

Ginny blinked twice, and when she was opening her mouth to retort, a man put his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s probably the griffindor on us.” Harry smiled at them, interrupted what would probably be some not so polite answer.

“Harry! You cleaned up so well!” Fleur smiled at him, kissing his cheek soundly. She genuinely had a soft spot for him.

“Thanks so much for coming! You two.” The boy smiled back, a little flustered by the compliment, and shook Bill’s hand.

Harry Potter still couldn’t handle praises, it seems.

Fleur noticed Ginny’s arm snaking around his waist to bring him closer to her and wanted to sigh loudly. Harry was crazy about the redhead, it was their wedding night. How could _the bride_ be jealous her? It was ridiculous.

“Well, I couldn't miss my little sis wedding.” Bill jumped in, probably noticing Fleur’s aggravation. “Speaking about it, I believe the bride’s big brother speech to the groom is in order?”

Harry laughed, but paled slightly.

“Ron had it covered. Trust me.” He said emphatically.

“Don’t be the second arse of the family, please.” Ginny smirked.

 “We’ll see.”

“Yeah, Harry and I should go check on the other guests now.” Ginny deadpanned, all but dragging Harry close behind her, but winked at Bill behind her shoulder.

 Bill laughed before stopping abruptly and frowned.  

“You never change, do you?” He said to Fleur, exasperated.

“What?” She shot back.

“Were you really criticizing the decoration? To the bride, of all people?!” He arched his eyebrow pointedly.

“Well, what can I say…” She huffed, raising her chin. “I feel like I just landed on Mars!”

“Yeah, don’t you say that to Ginny, or my mother for that matter. And don’t flirt with the groom.” He spat.

 “You ‘ave _got_ to be kidding me! Really, Bill?” She gaped at him. “I say one nice thing to ‘im, and suddenly I am flirting? Really?!” She hissed before glaring at a teenager that was observing them. The boy scurried off in no time.

Bill followed the unsuspected boy with his eyes to avoid looking at Fleur. He seemed ashamed of his implications. “I didn’t say that, it’s just…”

That was one of Bill’s problems. He would rub salt to the wound and then think that a little display of regret would be enough. As it turns out, for Fleur, it was not.

“Save it,” She raised her hand to stop him. She just didn’t want to hear any more of his excuses. She just didn’t want to hear any more of him. Period. “After our sham of a wedding is finally over, you don’t get to ask me anything anymore. Ever. You ‘eard me?” Fleur retorted fiercely, and then she turned on her heels, determined to just stay away from him for the time being.

“Fleur!” Bill called her, but she just ignored.

How have they reached this point, she was not sure. Of course, it was a snow ball effect. Brick by brick and day after day… The trigger had actually been something very similar to the accusation that she was flirting with Harry, but ten thousand times worse.

Bill and she both worked on the Hidden Treasures department on Gringotts, he as a Curse Breaker and she as a Researcher. Turns out, there was an opening for the Head of the European Region, and Fleur got the promotion instead of Bill. Usually when there’s a Curse Breaker and a Researcher competing for the same position, it goes for the Curse Breaker as a reward for all the risks they took and peril they faced. Also, the Head had to be in the field for the most important cases, and Researcher’s job is basically stay behind and analyze the evidence the Curse Breaker brought, or just study potential places to be explored. They were not field specialists, even though they sometimes followed the Curse Breakers into the thumbs, chambers, caves and inhospitable locations in general.

Fleur was just as surprised as his soon to be ex-husband when they announced she’s got the job. But she never expected him to react the way he did. Bill basically accused her of sleeping with the Global Head of the department to get the job, which didn’t even make sense, since the goblins were responsible for the bigger rank nominations on the bank. He knew that, obviously, but opted to lash out as a jealous prick instead of being a supportive husband and congratulate her.

The only red thing in that wedding that Fleur didn’t mind was the dresses of the bridesmaids. Not even the weird hairdo Luna Lovegood made with purple clips with straps (really weird) was able to ruin the overall look. But that dress on Hermione Granger... It was a completely different story. Fleur knew the girl had curves beneath layers of questionable fashion choices (curiously quite fitting for the woman), but that red dress… It complimented all her body, from calves to shoulder blades.  She had to admit that, at least regarding clothes, Ginny had made wonderful decisions.

“Oh, hi, Fleur.” Hermione raised her head to great her and smiled.

 “Hermione. I have to say your dress is the only thing I’d save from all of this.” Fleur made an ample gesture with her hand.

Hermione looked at her blankly for a second before opening and closing her mouth.

“How are you?” Fleur pulled a chair. “Would you mind if I sit?”

Fleur wasn’t completely aware that she was approaching the girl, she had spotted her sitting alone from a far but she was pretty much on autopilot, not really with a destination in mind. However, now the part-veela was content to stop. She just needed a distraction and, on their unexpected encounter on the previous month, Hermione proved to be a very good one.

“No. No, of course not. Thanks for the…um… opinion about my dress,” The brunette recovered quickly.  “And for your honesty about the wedding as a whole.” She added with a raised eyebrow and a clue of scold on her voice.

Fleur beamed, not at all embarrassed - or scolded as a matter of fact.

“I’m fine. Really glad that we all managed to escape with life between Ginny sparring with Mrs. Weasley and Harry’s daily anxiety attacks.” Hermione continued lightly, dropping the subtle reprimand.

“It’s really precious that no patronus interrupted the party with life-changing news yet.” She joked, ignoring the sudden clutch in her heart.

When Hermione’s eyes bored into her, Fleur started to wonder how she’s never realized on the past years how the witch seemed to read people as effectively as she read books. Maybe… maybe Fleur failed to notice because they’ve never had a real conversation up until weeks ago. Because now, for few moments, the part-veela felt scrutinized and almost naked upon the brunette’s look.

Then Hermione smiled kindly.

 “How are you?” Hermione said instead of commenting on her statement. 

 Fleur chuckled, purposely ignoring the question as a tray floated around them. She fished two glasses. “Red wine, if I remember correctly?”  She grinned and offered one to Hermione, whose smile broadened.

“That’s right,” Hermione eyed the identical glass on Fleur’s hand. “I thought we established you’re a white wine kind of girl?” The brunette quipped.

“I’m very versatile.” She leaned in to whisper close to Hermione, smirking.

Hermione blushed faintly.

“Pun intended?” She joked, sipping her wine – probably to hide her rather obvious embarrassment.

“Well, I’m French.” Fleur answered, saying nothing but everything.

Hermione blushed harder and the blonde laughed.

“You English are too prudish.”

The brunette scoffed.

“Who would have thought Fleur Weasley was such a funny girl?”

That name coming out of Hermione’s mouth was like a bucket of ice water turned over her head.  Nobody knows you and Bill are not together, she mentally repeated, trying not to shout at the woman not to call her that anymore.

Hermione must have sensed something was off, because she wasted no time changing the subject.

“Have you seen Ron around?”

Fleur blinked a few times to force her mind to pay attention at the woman.

“No… Not since the ceremony, no.”

“Good,” Hermione said forcefully. “I said to him I’d bring a date, but as you can see, I have not.”

Fleur looked at her curiously. The girl was not unattractive, right now it was obviously quite the opposite. She was very intelligent. Not dull to talk to. Why wouldn’t she bring a date? Could it be possible that…

“I did not get stood up again, Fleur.” Hermione rolled her eyes, impressively guessing what Fleur was about to ask.

The blonde smiled.

“You can’t just bring a muggle to a magical wedding.” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“Oh… why didn’t you just tell him that, then?” Fleur queried.

 She shrugged.

“They don’t know I’m returning to the date scene.”

“You mean drinking margaritas with strangers at bars?” Fleur deadpanned.

Hermione chuckled despite of herself.

“It’s so unlike me to do that… but anyway, my love life shouldn’t be of anyone’s concern.”

“I can relate to that.” Fleur answered, probably more bitterly than she first intended.

The brunette tilted her head before taking another sip of her drink.

“They are just being too adamant about the whole deal and I all want is to be left alone.”

“By  ‘they’ you mean Ron and Ginny, I suppose?”

Hermione smiled sheepishly, agreeing without admitting it.

The brunette was a very closed off person. Just as it was unlikely to Hermione go on random dates in bars, it was also very uncommon for her to open up - at least with someone that was a mere acquaintance to her. Though they had a good time at the muggle bar before, and yes, although Fleur tended her wounds on the war, they had nothing further than a cordial relationship. And somehow, there Fleur was, talking about the other woman’s love life and friends. It was silly, really, and probably she was overthinking everything, but Fleur felt warm and all fuzzy inside.  And then she started to laugh. Loud.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked, unable to suppress a grin.

“You used to hate me.” Fleur answered flatly.

Hermione’s mouth hanged open.

“Wha-What! I did not use to hate you!” She stuttered.

 “Oh, so you still do?” The blonde questioned, as serious as ever.

“That’s not what I said!” The brunette was positively choked.

“Ron told me you and Ginny called me _Phlegm_!” Fleur accused, trying to control her face from breaking into a grin.

“Ok. Maybe I was not you biggest fan at first, per se… but-”

“Ow Hermione, and here I thought we had got past this.” Fleur interrupted, sighing dramatically. She was having more fun watching Hermione struggle than she probably should.

The blonde must not have had as much success at containing her amusement as she thought, because in the next minute Hermione was narrowing her eyes.

“You evil witch!” She hissed.

That’s all that took to Fleur to let out a full belly laugh that took a whole minute to subside. Eventually, the brunette joined her.

“That was just plain cruel.” Hermione said after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Well… what can I say…” Fleur made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I am French.”

The brunette chuckled.

“Ronald Weasley is so dead.” She deadpanned.

Fleur giggled.

“It’s not completely his fault, my thrall used to affect him a lot back them.”

Hermione eyed her with interest.

“How is it like?” She asked. “Enthrall people?”

Fleur shrugged.

 “It depends a lot. When I was younger I loved it, sometimes I still do… but eventually… It can get tiring.” The quarter-veela swallowed the rest of her wine. “The worst part of ‘aving something in you that’s not ‘uman… You can’t control it at times.” She felt the sudden urge to avoid Hermione’s expressive eyes, so she busied herself at stopping a tray to get a refill for them.

“Fleur...” The brunette said softly.

“It is _zat_ it is. I am in peace with my ‘eritage.  You know, I am-”

“If you say French I’ll just have to use an unforgivable on you.” Hermione quipped, interrupting.

Fleur smirked, but didn’t look up until she felt a warm and soft hand envelop hers.

“You are very much human,” Hermione said firmly. “And the veela in you might just make you even more human than most people.”

Fleur swallowed hard, trying to force down to sudden lump in her throat.

“I-”

“Hermione, there you are!” Ron called, walking opening the path of dancing couples to reach them. He awkwardly came to a halt when he saw who was sitting with his friend. “Hi…um… Fleur.”

Hermione scoffed at his hesitation.

“Used to affect you said?” She drawled to Fleur.

The blonde chuckled.

“Hello.” The blonde turned to the flushed boy.

“So, ‘Mione… I’m eager to meet your date.”

“Well, I believe you already know her.” The brunette blunted, glancing at Fleur before facing him again.

The part-veela laughed, catching the joke immediately.

“Huh?” He sat with them, instead of uncomfortably keeping changing from foot to foot.

“She’s right here.”

“Where? Damn, you said you liked girls too, but I didn’t actually believe it! Is it for real then?” He grinned.

Fleur raised an eyebrow, surprised, and turned to look at a rapidly blushing Hermione. Soon the color of her face could defy any Weasley’s hair.

Fleur then decided to come to Hermione’s rescue.

“Her date is a muggle who is yet oblivious about us, so when I saw Hermione alone, I decided to join her, we are not dating, spot making that face Ronald, but I’m her date for the night.”

Rony “Ooed” in comprehension.

“I see, so may I join you ladies too?”

“Please be my guest.”

“Want to be Fleur’s date too?” Hermione poked him.

“What? That’s my brother’s wife here, Mione, have some respect.”

The woman giggled, but Fleur remained stoic at the affirmation.

“Actually, I’m going to go around a bit. See you later.” Fleur got up in, a little annoyed that she had to find something else to do to pass the time.

She just hoped the wedding was over soon – and that was a success, because she didn’t agree to not ruin Ginny’s wedding just for it to crash for another reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next two chapter will be from Hermione's point of view. Hope you like it!  
> Let me know what you thought of this too!


	3. Lost cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd bring up the drama!

When she opened the door, a sight that certainly wasn’t what she expected, greet her anyway.

He was standing in front of the now lit fireplace, his hands joined behind his back as the flames crackled and made his shadow dance on her carpet. All very statuesque indeed.

The picture of condescension.

"The fire was off when I left,", Hermione started, putting a stoic face, "You stand like that for dramatic effect, don't you?"

Draco Malfoy moved his head to meet her eye, the other side of his face dusking as he retreated from the flames.

"I had the impression your horrid cat was cold," He answered carelessly, though his gaze seemed to be scrutinizing Hermione's very soul.

"It's June," Hermione retorted at the same time an angry meowl echoed in the room, "And Crookshanks is beautiful," She added pointedly.

The cat purred, walking between her legs with his tail tickling her calves.

Hermione caught him from the floor, and the half-knezle glared heatedly at Malfoy, making her proud.

Draco, on the other hand, merely raised his eyebrow at her, "You've been reckless."

"Come what now?" She asked impatiently, feeing her also impatient pet, who was squirming about in her arms and apparently done watching the whole ordeal.

"A source from the improper use of magic office told me you've been caught using magic in front of a muggle. Again."

Hermione sighed.

"I was simply disapparating and the girl thought she saw something. They didn’t even have to obliviate her, she thought it had all been a dream."

"Who is this girl now?"

Hermione simply stared and Draco broke his façade, his posture relaxing as he ran a hand in his forehead, in a preoccupied manner.

"Look, I don't mind your... acquaintances, but you have to be more careful."

Hermione scoffed, "I don't need your lecture, Malfoy, I know what I'm doing."

"Oh really," he took a step in her direction, "Because it looks to me like you've gave up and is simply living without a thought of the consequences."

They glared at each other as the implication laid heavy on Hermione's shoulder. The air was suddenly thick as the witch and the wizard stared each other down.

And then...

And then Hermione casted her head down guiltily, and Draco lost his stern look, his hand raising to touch her shoulder, but choosing to fall limply on his sides instead.

“Did you come here just to give me a speech?”

“Yes and no.”

“What is it you want, Malfoy?” Hermione sat on one of the comfy armchairs in front of the fire place, gesturing the man to do the same.

“I want you well, Hermione, bloody hell, I _need_ you well. If not for your sake, at least…”

“For yours, too.” Hermione stated. And, after a brief pause, “How’s Astoria?”

“Astoria”, Draco drawled, “Wants to get pregnant.”

Draco looked tired, tired by the idea, if not a little dejected by it. Not like a man who would like anything to do but being a father, not that. Malfoy despising parenting didn’t settle right.

“And you hate kids?” She still jested. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she got it. Draco’s reason for looking so cast down.

He glared at her, “That is not the point, I assume you can understand.”

“No, not the point.” Hermione complied, her brows furrowing.

She gave him a moment.

“You do realize that we performed studies, several of them, if whatever or not this curse Astoria has can be contagions to the baby. It cannot. You know it, Draco, the baby will not be cursed. It’s Astoria burden to bear alone,” She then murmured as an afterthought, not sure if he could even hear her, “As it is mine.”

Draco let the words sink in, but the sorrow face on the corners of his eyes was still there.

“I don’t know if she could ever forgive me to even say it, because I bloody want a son or daughter, but if she does get pregnant, and the baby impairs Astoria even more, I swear it, fuck the baby.”

Hermione watched Draco’s face harden, and then she watched as he crumbled, his eyes starting to fill up with tears.

“I don’t want her to get pregnant, but how can I stop the one thing she wants the most… when she is the one person, I love the most?”

Malfoy was now practically weeping, and Hermione felt a tug of empathy inside of her, but also… How have she never thought about that option? If she got pregnant the curse would get worse? Could it kill her?

Oh God.

Could she _ever_ have children?

“We can run more tests. I mean, is she fertile, are you fertile? Maybe pregnancy is not even biologically possible. You may choose adoption. If none of those check for you… we can start new studies as of now. And then monitor the pregnancy real close. To avoid… impairing Astoria’s health.”

“Was that supposed to be reassuring?” Draco snarled, his tears dried.

“Yes!” Hermione said heatedly. “It is! We are making progress, just now I was in a meeting in Gringgots, and…”

“Please, money is not an issue to the research, you needn’t worry handling with the goblins, you could’ve gone straight to-”

“If you let me finish,” She hissed. “there was a Veela catacomb found, and it is believed it contains solid knowledge on curses. Ancient Veelas were the curse breakers from their time.”

“Promising,” He drawled all but a little skeptically, “And when do we get to analyze the information?”

“That’s…” Hermione hesitated. “Not quite clear yet.”

“Bloody Hell, Granger!”

“I need you to understand. This is progress. We are making progress.” She closed her hands in both his arms. “Do you understand, Draco?”

The man sighed and gestured to get up.

“I only hope,” He said, collecting his cape from the arm table, and a handful of floo powder. “And I also hope you get it together, not because I need you to be at your very best, but because you need it too, Hermione.”

Hermione took a deep breath before nodding.

Then Malfoy was gone. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been too long since they dine together in peace at Grimmauld place, Hermione mused. And as it seemed, it would still be a while before they would.

All was fine when Ginny and Harry were telling them the anecdotes of their honeymoon. And how Harry got so sunburnt he looked like a shrimp, and how she didn’t advise any one to have sex in the see (to Ron’s dismay), and that peeing to relieve the pain from jellyfish burn surprisingly worked (to both Ron’s and Hermione’s dismay).

But then, after they’ve eaten all the delicious food Hermione was sure that neither Harry nor Ginny cooked, and were on their nightcap, the subject turned into something much less palatable.

“They’ve been divorced for more than a bloody month now, can you believe it?” Gin exclaimed, drowning the rest of her fire whiskey.

Yes, Hermione could. She picked something was off with Fleur when they ran into each other in that bar but, by the wedding, she was certain.

“I feel deceived,” Ron added to the fire.

“And Bill?” Ginny went on, “He didn’t say a thing! I mean, what the hell happened?”

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Ron complained, “No one tells me a bloody thing.”

Hermione sighed. They could be intense, the Weasleys. She exchanged a look with Harry, who just shrugged. He, wisely, wouldn’t get involved.

“Picture that,” Ginny started dramatically. “I came back from my honeymoon. I can barely walk straight yet-”

Rony groaned as Harry blushed furiously.

“That’s too much information from my little sister!”

“And then,” She continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all, “I’m told Bill has divorced. That he is abroad, supposedly on a work trip. That he isn’t communicating. Not even to mom! What if he is dead in a ditch somewhere?”

That was Molly talking, Hermione was sure.

“Darling, I’m sure Gringotts would have told us if-”

“Would they, Harry?” Rony asked in that high-pitch voice, that Hermione often associated with him finding spiders somewhere, “Do you really trust the goblins that much? They wouldn’t even promote him when he deserved it!”

Ginny looked at Ron like he was suddenly a fountain of fresh water in the middle of the desert.

“That is why they divorced!” The woman howled, making Hermione jump a little in her spot, “ _She_ stole his job.”

Hermione didn’t know what did it. If the whole absurdity that was that conversation, if it was the drama of it all… or the disgust in Ginny’s voice as she referred to Fleur, but she just snapped.

“Sometimes,” Hermione started, making sure to keep her voice controlled. “Things just don’t work out.”

She stood up to get her coat.

“And you should just give Bill _and_ Fleur a break. I’m sure they already have enough on their plates without all your meddling.”

She made a bee line to the fireplace, ignoring the shocked look she was receiving.

Oh, well, served them right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione sat as still as she could on the aquamarine-colored chair. The room smelled like waiting rooms usually did: clean and soothing. Most would not agree. But Hermione grew up in a household of dentists, so to her, the white, the porcelain tiles and the landscapes hanged on the walls were comforting enough.

"Ms. Jean?" A soft voice called. It had been a whim, more than a precaution, using her middle name as a last name. Granger was muggle, sure it wouldn’t raise too many flags, but she wanted to keep this to herself, do her own muggle thing inconspicuously.

She nodded at the secretary, a middle-aged woman with wool sweater and a warm smile, all the stereotype of a working grandmother.

"Know the way, dear?"

"Like a compass," Hermione smiled back, knocking on the right door before she was invited in.

Dr.Lewis reminded her of Dumbledore, somehow. Without the beard and the hair, surely, she noted as the light reflected his bald spots.

But something about his blue eyes, it had that glint of someone who knew passed what it let show. Hermione pondered at one occasion or two if it was possible, he suspected she was a witch. As far as she was concerned, though, he was a regular, unaware, paying-taxes, tea drinker, English muggle man.

Who seemed to know everything.

But still...he had a picture of the Queen on his desk, so Hermione thought she was on the safe side.

"How are you, Ms. Jean?" Dr. Lewis started, blue orbs assessing her attentively.

"I'm well," She started. "I've been able to catch some sleep as of lately."

"That is good indeed. The nausea?"

"Subdued."

He hummed in appreciation, diverting his eyes to look at the test results in front of him.

"Have you been taking your meds?"

"Yes," She said honestly. "I believe it's been helpful." It has. Hermione was very eager to found out that muggle methods could be adapted to magical ones. That was the whole point of going to a muggle doctor. Get more material for her research.

The chemical substance of the medication in question helped St.Mungus to brew an efficient concoction that kept most of the symptoms of her curse at bay. It wasn't a cure, but it made life more bearable.

"And have you been mixing your pills with alcohol?"

His tone was pleasant enough, but still Hermione felt scolded. She blushed.

"Sometimes."

He presented her with a piercing gaze.

"That could be one reason for why the medication only runs in your blood flow for a couple hours," Dr. Lewis pointed at some indicator on her blood work, "When it should last for 24 hours.".

It was not the drinking, Hermione knew that for a certain. It was her magic. The magic inside of her burned the substances much faster than a muggle organism would.

Of course, he couldn't possibly know that.

"I understand."

"Could we try one month without it?"

Hermione nodded, though she wouldn't.

"The cancer isn't spreading, which is great news."

Cancer. That was the diagnosis. What muggle scientist would've believed in curses?

"But I worry," he added as an afterthought. "You don't respond to radiation or chemotherapy. Surgery is still not recommended."

"I'm a lost cause." Hermione stated with a smile, so Dr. Lewis wouldn't think she was victimized. It was such a harrowing thought to have in anyone’s mind, really, but she didn't feel sorry for thinking it. She had that aching inside of her, a latent feeling that terrified her and accompanied her everywhere, but lately… she just felt numb.

"I'd say you are a cause to be found." He corrected her, not with a smile on his lips, but rather in the sparkle in his eyes.

After a moment, he crossed his hands on top of the table, and Hermione knew that gesture to well. Dr. Lewis was waiting for her to get to the point.

"I've been acting a little..." She cleared her throat, as her mind searched for the right word. "Erratically."

The man tilted his head, "Enlighten me."

Hermione felt heat coloring her cheeks.

"Well, I'm meeting new people. A lot." She averted her eyes and stared at the ceiling as though it was very interesting. "At a rapid pace." She added so lowly she wasn't sure he had heard her.

When she looked back, he was staring at her as if she had commented on something as trivial as the weather.

"I'm not able to say it with certain, as it is not my field of expertise, but I believe this behavior may have nothing to do with biological symptoms of cancer," he started matter-of-factly, and Hermione much preferred that approach. "But rather with the psychological implications of such a disease."

She understood his implications. So she was sleeping around because she was dying, not because she was cursed. What a nice assumption. She contained a scoff. Hermione had been close to death more times than she could count.

Why would this time be different?

_“Because it look to me like you've gave up and is simply living without a thought of the consequences!”_

She realized she had been silent for too long when Dr. Lewis started writing a prescription.

"I'd like to continue to your medication as it is, but I'm asking for a thyroid blood test and a head scan, so we can soothe your doubts."

Hermione just nodded, taking the offered paper. She was on autopilot, her brain trying to crack her emotions, but her heart insisted on thumping in her chest.

She was dying.

“Hermione,” Dr. Lewis called softly when she was reaching for the doorknob.

“Yes?” She turned with no little hesitation.

“You are not a lost cause. Remember that.”

She felt something tugging on her chest, and honestly, that man had just pushed the emotion button on again.

She wanted to live.

She couldn't give up.

 “I will. Thank you, doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don't forget to let me know ehat you thought of it.  
> Next chapter will also be from Hermione's POV.


	4. Unfathomed alluring funny git

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, you really came through last chapter. I was so happy to hear from you, that I was going to hold on to this chapter a little longer but… what the heck: here is a little token of my appreciation. Enjoy!

It was when Hermione left the muggle clinic, she realized she was _starving_. The realization of your own mortality and all its ramifications was, apparently, very energy-consuming.

She had so much work to do. Papers piling up on her desk, magical journals to read as well as books on all kinds of subjects, from the origins of the dark arts to “Ingrown Toenail: the real curse of medieval witches”, because there was an interesting formula discovered by a 12th century witch named Agnes Buckthorn, to cure ingrown toenail, after she was cursed to suffer from it no matter how she cut her toenails (a strangely popular curse amongst the witches of the 11th and 12th century, for some reason).

Hermione swore to God, dying was just too much trouble.

She decided to stop by a cafe to get something on her stomach before starting to marvel at why recent theorists thought the formula to break the curse of ingrown toenail was cornerstone to break all curses. Hermione rolled her eyes, equally amused and disgusted. Maybe it was safer if she didn’t eat anything at all.

In fact, Hermione was about to skip the meal to start earlier on the book, but a glimpse of blonde hair inside the little coffee shop caught her attention. She checked her surrounding, just to be sure, and yes, she was still in muggle London. _Curious_. She walked in.

“I keep bumping and bumping into you”.

Fleur raised her eyes and looked as much as a deer caught in headlights. And what a beautiful deer.

For a second, Hermione could sense Fleur didn’t have a clue on how to follow that. Almost three months avoiding the whole world just to have someone finding her in the most unlikely of places.

“Muggles have the best coffee,” The veela said finally, raising her cup with a bright smile.

Hermione stared into the pearly-white teeth and wondered how much of that smile was genuine. She was intruding, she decided. What an insensitive instinct. Just march into a place to meet a woman who obviously wanted to be left alone and- and what?

She shook her head with a polite smile of her own, “I just thought I’d say ‘hello’, I must be-”

“Would you join me?” The blonde interrupted her with a slight tilt of her head, her blonde hair following the movement and flowing beside her shoulder.

Hermione blinked, staring at suddenly vulnerable eyes that got her pulling a chair in no time.

She avoided the obvious how you’ve been? Instead, “Would I miss terribly if I ordered myself tea instead of coffee?”

The woman caught her cue fast enough.

 “Non, these muggles are still too English. I miss arabica coffee beans,” Fleur sighed, giving it a dramatic flair. “Or Brazilian beans, I’m not that picky.” Fleur said, looking honest-to-God as picky as they came, but a fresh smirk on her pink lips and a frown on her nose made Hermione laugh at her antics.

The woman grinned back at her before taking a dainty sip of the not arabica-bean coffee.

Fleur Delacour looked stunning. Which, of course, wasn’t flash news. Bellow the surface, she could see the bones of her hand pushing towards the skin, her shoulder blades more prominent than Hermione remembered. The had lost weight, and if it was possible a veela could have bags under her eyes, she thought Fleur would’ve have. Instead, that was something weary about the way she moved.

Nothing particularly noticeable. But Hermione noticed.

“I didn’t have a break in the middle of the afternoon in forever,” She started, feeling her share of guilt.

“Are you playing hooky?” Fleur raised one eyebrow at her, her tone teasing. The muggle waitress that approached their table to get Hermione’s order shot her a disapproving look.

“I’m not!”, She stated emphatically, glaring at the waitress for good measure. “I have the day off, but still…”

“Aren’t you your own boss?” The blond asked pointedly, toying with her spoon.

“I suppose I answer to shareholders,” Hermione reasoned. “And I have employees, I have to settle an example, I can’t just-”

Fleur started to giggle.

“What?” She narrowed her eyes at the woman.

“You are horrible at playing hooky.”

Hermione huffed, “I’m not playing hooky, I have the day. What are you doing here three in the afternoon anyway?”.

Fleur was still too amused for Hermione’s taste.

“I too have the day off, which was very difficult to get. Try having goblins to answer to.”

Hermione scoffed at the possibility. She was conducting business with them a lot lately, and that already was a handful.

“I’m fine at the private sector, thank you.”

“Being your own boss and all,” Fleur teased her again, and Hermione could swear there was a flirty undertone there.

She blushed.

“I answer to-”

“Shareholders,” Fleur flicked her hair, suddenly holding Hermione in a piercing gaze. “Hot.”

Hermione’s chin fell, and she stared mouth-agape at Fleur for a second before recovering, “It’s no big deal.”

Fleur laughed, resting her hand on top of Hermione’s on the table, “I’m merely pestering you.”

Hermione glanced at their hands, the soft weight comfortable enough, “Funny git.”

“ _Excusez moi_?” Fleur retorted, putting her other hand over her chest in a faux indignant matter, “I’d believe you should say ‘unfathomed alluring funny git”.

Hermione laughed incredulously.

“You are incorrigible.”

“But unfathomed alluring,” Fleur collected her hand and raised one finger to make her point. Hermione was surprised to find herself missing her touch.

When her tea arrived, Hermione only had to glance at it to notice, “The waitress didn’t put the milk! What a judgmental woman… you do realize this is all your fault.” She accused halfheartedly.

“I apologize,” Fleur placated… completely unapologetically.

Hermione shook her head.

“You just don’t mess with someone’s tea,” She said as serious as ever.

Fleur chuckled amicably, and they sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

Fleur as watching something above Hermione’s shoulder. She sobered up, and, without indication or any preliminary, she asked, “How are the Weasleys?”

Hermione studied her for a moment, and she could see the concern in Fleur. She would think the woman would at least try to appear careless, but there was only openness there… like she somehow trusted Hermione’s judgement, would care for her words.

She thought for a moment if she would betray someone’s trust by answering it honestly.

She supposed not.

“They are trying to put the pieces together,” Hermione answered carefully.

Fleur nodded, the corners of her mouth turning downward. Hermione could almost hear what she was clearly suppressing. To her, too, the Weasleys got involved too much in each other’s lives. It was their way of caring, but not always easy to deal with.

“They have no clue whatsoever, and it takes a toll on them,” She continued, “Bill has been… reclusive, the past weeks.”

Fleur sighed.

“Sounds like Bill,” She murmured.

They finished they beverages in silence, and, after they picked up the bill, Hermione was ready to say her goodbyes. The pair stood up and stopped in front of the coffee shop.

“It was nice seeing you-”

“I got an apartment,” Fleur interjected, “It’s near here, actually, just down the block.”

Hermione gazed at her curiously. That would explain what Fleur was doing there.

“I’m still furnished, and could use a second opinion…” The woman continued in a clear invite.

Hermione was on her day off, but she had so much to do. Her appointment on her muggle doctor lit a fire in her that was extinguished for quite a while, and she wanted to make to most of it. But…

But she remembered how only minutes ago Fleur had asked her to join her on her table, and had looked vulnerable and…

Lonely.

Of course. Fleur was lonely.

Something clutched in Hermione’s chest. She could feel it hit a little too close home.

“Lead the way,” She smiled.

 

 

 

Fleur’s apartment was in muggle London, just like Hermione’s, and the cutest thing.

It was a small place. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a little storage room, the kitchen and the laundry.

The walls on the living room were painted a refined light blue, and her balcony had windows and a door from floor to ceiling, allowing the light to embrace the ambient.

She had a big fluffy midnight blue rug in one room, that was vacant except for a very high-tech TV and a DVD player.

“This is really top-notch,” Hermione commented.

“The salesman said the same, but I’m afraid I don’t quite know what it is for.”

“You use it to watch movies,” Hermione said, finding adorable that despite the ignorance on something so trivial for muggles, Fleur still wanted in her home.

“Movies?” There was that endearing frown on Fleur’s nose again.

“Think of a magic photograph,” She started, “It moves, right?”

Fleur nodded, looking at her with interest.

“It’s like a photograph but with a story. People speak to one another, and go to different places, and do what they must do to tell us that story.”

Fleur watched her purchases wide-eyed, “That seems very interesting. Where do I get those movies?”

“You buy a DVD,” Hermione gestured to the DVD player, “and the movie plays on your television. I have some at home, if you want to borrow.”

“I would, thank you Hermione,” The way the name rolled on Fleur’s tongue, oh my God, why must veelas exude this kind of sexual power?

Fleur seemed quite aware of her effect, because she smirked at Hermione and gave her a look that spoke all but innocence.

She blushed. Again. This was ridiculous. No more upper hand for Fleur Delacour.

“Here, I got some furniture to put here, but I can’t decide what I like best.”

Fleur got some miniature furniture from the bag and enlarged it so it would be the regular size. With her wand, she rearranged them in the room.

“Very nice,” She said, looking at the grey armchairs.

“They recline!” Fleur announced proudly.

“I’m not sure about the sofa, though. White is easy to get stained.”

Fleur rolled her eyes, “You do realize I possess a little thing called wand?”

Hermione huffed, “I mean, is easier to get messy.”

“And you hate mess,” Fleur was by her side, her fingers brushing lightly on her cheek, cheek that – needless to say – was burning red.

Fleur laughed and drop her hand.

 Hermione narrowed her eyes, “You enjoy that, don’t you?”

“What?” Fleur asked innocently.

Hermione shot her a pointed look.

“I don’t know what you mean, Hermione.”

There she was, turning her name into something sexual again.

“Making people fluster.” She pushed.

“I do,” Fleur retorted with a straight face, “But not just anybody,” The blonde then smirked.

Hermione managed to scoff, “That was incredibly tacky, Fleur. You can do better.” But damn if she wasn’t blushing.  

“You wound me, Hermione. You know I’m-”

“French?”

Fleur stopped for a moment and smiled. A genuine smile.

“Yes. But also, part-veela.”

“Don’t you say,” Hermione quipped.

“Which means,” Fleur continued as if she hadn’t heard her, “I’m a flirting master. If flirting was a subject, I’d be the teacher.”

Hermione hummed, “Is that so?”

“Yes, Ms. Granger,” The woman purred, casting Hermione a sultry look.

She just had to assume red was her natural color now, as she laughed along with the woman.

But Hermione’s curiosity had been picked, and she decided to further try the waters, “And in what else are veelas masters?”

Fleur tensed, her shoulders squaring and her eyes hardening. Hermione soon regretted said decision.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

There was a pause, and then Fleur’s posture softened.

“You didn’t,” She reassured. “Sometimes I get a little defensive when my veela is questioned, but not by you, Hermione, but I did bring it up in the first place. I apologize for my reaction.”

“Even though, If I went too far-”

“I’m not offended,” Fleur interrupted her again. “To answer to your question, the veela is very sensitive to emotion… and lust. I can feel when someone is attracted to me, I can feel people that I’m attracted to… or I can repress it all if I want.”

“You can feel? As in, the energy? The magic?” Her curiosity bested her mortification.

Fleur smiled at that, sitting in the white sofa.

“It’s both but something else entirely.”

Hermione frowned, “I’m not sure I understand,” She said with a little effort. She hated not understanding, and even more admitting it.

“It’s magic as it is part of the veela magic, a sixth sense in a way, and energy… well, everybody has a signature energy. Yours is different than mine, that is different than Harry’s and so it goes on. When there is attraction, or lust, or love, I feel that energy. When I know the person, I can put a face on that energy, but most of the time I don’t, therefore I keep it repressed.”

Hermione nodded. It must be maddening entering a room full of people and every single one of them desire you; to feel these much of energy flux… not fun to say the least.

“Wait, you said you can feel the energy of someone you are attracted to.”

Fleur smiled.

“It’s equally complex. Depends on how strong are my feelings, depends on what are those feelings, and if the person has any feelings towards me, too. If it is strong enough, I even feel it from afar.”

Hermione hummed in understanding – finally.

“It does sound complex.”

She wanted to ask if she could still feel Bill, but instead she suggested Fleur some patterns for her cushions.

The main bedroom was what Hermione liked the most. Up until now, Fleur’s apartment was sophisticated and modern. The bedroom though still very elegant, had an antique quality. Fleur showed her a beautiful mahogany vanity desk that looked like a gem from the 18th century; the queen size bed had the same mahogany headboard and so had the wardrobe, but there were those beautiful crème curtains and an off-white rug to break the dark.

“I love it,” Hermione said in a breath. “No notes here.”

Fleur chuckled.

“I always wanted a place for my vanity table, but my old bedroom was smaller than this one,” Fleur rolled her eyes. “Not too small for a shelf full of trinkets and junk Bill got from his travels, though” She vented.

“I don’t envy my partner,” Hermione started, “My house is filled with bookshelves.”

Fleur eyed her with interest, “Your partner? Must I assume you and your muggle are steady?”

Hermione laughed. Hard.

Hours ago she was telling her doctor that she’s been sleeping around too much, and now…

“No, no… I meant my future partner.”

She was still chuckling.

“What is so funny?” Fleur asked

“The muggle you referred to. That was quite a story.”

“Now you must tell,” Fleur probed with a smile.

Hermione considered. But there was no way she could tell the whole drama involving the office of improper use of magic thinking the girl had discovered the wizardry world because Hermione disapparated from her house in the middle of the night.

“Maybe some other time.”

Fleur honest to God pouted, which just made Hermione laugh harder, and then, to her embarrassment and to end her laughing, her stomach roared.

She completely forgot to eat at the damn coffee shop, where people don’t put milk in her tea.

“I should be going,” She said.

“Oh, why, I have food here. Or we could order. Ordering food has to be the best muggle thing I’ve known so far.”

Hermione smiled.

Truth was, it was almost seven. Her tons to do were still in her desk, and the conversation started to get to her. That story reminded that she was cursed and didn’t want to be anymore… so she had to start working.

“I appreciate the offer, Merlin knows how much a love Chinese, but… I really should get ahold of some readings.”

Fleur nodded, approaching her and engulfing Hermione in a hug, “Thank you for today,” she said in her ear, making the hair in the back of Hermione’s neck bristle.

“No, thank you.” Hermione said when they were facing each other. “You have no idea how much I needed a normal day.”

Fleur smiled, “Me too”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remind you I'm not a native speaker and have no beta, so if you find my mistakes unbearable... you should really be my beta! hahaha  
> anyway, tell me what you thought of this!


	5. New boss around here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Back at Fleur's POV. I plan on changing point of views at each other chapter.  
> Enjoy!

Fleur was not a fan of meetings. Mostly, because they were less productive and more political.

She could handle herself fine in regard of networking and working relations, however, the herd mentality of ambitious and theoretically powerful men when put together in one seclude room, often made her grind her teeth.

For starters, she was practically the only woman in the group – to make it worse, she was part-veela. So the ogling and disconcerting comments were constant and right on her face. Behind her back, they’d sneer and belittle her, only seeing her for what she looked like, not for her knowledge or talent – they reminded her of what Bill said: that she’d been promoted by being pretty, not competent.  

She hated those corporative men.

Yet there she was, occupying, at a young age, the seat of the second regional head of Treasures in Gringotts quarter meeting.

“Now we must lead to the part we enjoy most: gratifications,” The HR global head started, making the group laugh. Suck ups.

“Shall we with the regional heads? The global team decided that, as a reward for an excellent quarter, each regional head will be granted a bonus of two thousand galleons. Are we all in consensus?”

That was odd. Marcus, the HR global head in question, had approached her before to set her bonus at one thousand galleons, which, Fleur could concede, was generous. But now, why would the others that performed the same job as hers and had the same responsibilities and role, would get the double of what she was getting?

Well, Fleur was positively not in the consensus.

She could wait until the meeting was over, but she had a hunch that Marcus wanted to speak to her in private for one good reason: not make it public, so Fleur might as well put the cards on the table, because thai is where her leverage would be.

“Excuse me, Marcus. I was under the impression that I was to receive a sum not nearly close to two thousand galleons. Am I to assume I was mistaken, now, shouldn’t I?

Marcus cleared his throat.

“No, Ms. Delacour, it’s just... we felt that, since you've only just started, it would not be fair to others if you were to receive the same amount, but if you want to discuss it in priva-”

“Enlighten me, Marcus,” She interjected, because she had nothing to gain by speaking to him privately, “it’s true I only just began, but I worked all through the trimester, start to end, and if we decided on a fixed sum for all heads to compensate their work during just the quarter, not the time of service before that, I don’t understand why I’d only have half of the bonus.”

“Ms. Delacour”, Mark started, all very condescending. “We came up with this number because we calculated not only results, but potential. Also, it's a reward for the older members, for all they’ve done for us. I’m sure you’ll find your bonus quite generous due to the brief months you’ve been regional head.”

Condescending but aggravated, Fleur was sure. Now was the moment to push harder to get the upper hand.

“Yes, but before that, I was a top researcher that obviously had a lot of potential, and now I’m the competent head of the second regional for as long time as the bonus covers, which is the quarter, so you understand my concern about not being valued as much as the others.”

Oh, there. Fleur saw the exact point Marcus lost his cool. She had that one on the bag.

“Ms. Delacour, certainly you are not presuming you add as much value to the-”

“If she presumes, she presumes right, don’t you think, Marcus?” Phineus Doge, the global head of Treasures interrupted. “Ms. Delacour is not mistaken. Please, rearrange your numbers.”

Marcus was fucking fuming. But he wouldn’t dare contradict the boss.

“Of course, Mr. Doge.”

Fleur had the urge to gloat, but instead she kept silent, ignoring the looks of outrage and jealousy she was now receiving.

It was not often Doge intervened, but Fleur had a meeting scheduled with him for the next week, and sure he would want something in return for that favor – that would not make the men in the room envy her, of that she was sure.

“Moving on,” Mark cleared her throat, “each regional head has five thousand galleons to distribute, as they see fit, to their team. Please make a list of employees and the sum they’ll receive as gratification and send to your HR region head to validate. Any questions? No? Well, let’s wrap it up then.”

The men around seemed pleased the meeting was over, for now they’d be treated a very expansive meal and drink and proceed to lick each other’s boots.

On the dinner, she sat between Doge and the head of the fourth region – France.

 _“I don’t believe we have met, I’m Delphine Altier,”_  The woman spoke in French with her. She felt the familiarity of the language and smiled.

“Fleur Delacour.”

_“You were the one to look to at the meeting.”_

It had a double meaning there. She was the one to look to because she was, no modesty, beautiful, or because…

_“Such a young woman and already regional head; of Britain, no less.”_

Oh, that.

 But still, Fleur could practically smell the flirtatious posture in Delphine.

 She was pretty with long dark curls and piercing green eyes; in her late thirties - which only made her more interesting. 

_“It was your first time in the lion dem, wasn’t it?”_

_Or in the snake lair_ , Fleur wanted to add. Instead, she smiled and answered politely in French:  _“Indeed.”_

_“I look forward working with you, Fleur, can I call you Fleur?”_

_“Of course, as long as the courtesy is extended.”_

Delphine flipped her hair and laughed. Oh, that woman was not only flirting, she was in for the kill.

_“Tell me, you must miss France terribly…”_

_“Only on the rainy days in Good Ol’ England,”_  Fleur sipped her wine and wondered if her too, wasn’t flirting as well.

_“Which I assume is always?”_

Fleur just laughed.

“ _What I miss the most is Beauxbatons. I’d love to take a detour to the castle next time I find myself in France.”_

Delphine beamed at her, taking her hand in what could pass for excitement, but Fleur knew better.

_“The school times, weren’t they glorious?”_

_“Oh, they were,”_  Fleur conceded, and let her mind reminisce for a little moment.

They chatted a little longer, shared experiences about their time in Beauxbatons, and about being the only females on their group.

 _“It was a nice show you put there. Not backing down. I feel we, women, have to fight constantly for our place,”_ Delphine started.

_“I fight for what I believe is right”._

_“Oh Fleur, you are quite cutthroat, are you not?”_  It was a challenge.

Delphine was right, she was. But what was the fun to admit to something like that?

 _“Am I, now?”_  She murmured the question, as if she were to reveal a grand secret.

 _“You are, and that’s just_  fascinating _.”_  Delphine got closer to her and whispered near her face, her mint and wine breath reaching out to Fleur.

 _“And you… are quite the charmer._ ” Fleur reclined back on her chair.

Delphine laughed.

_“Tell me if it works.”_

They ate they food in silence for a minute before the woman was speaking again.

_“I was so glad when I heard you were the new head, just the person we need for our little situation back in France.”_

Now Fleur was puzzled. What did she mean? She observed the woman, assured that she would continue talking.

_“The veela catacomb we found, you may just be the key to unlock it.”_

“I see you are already filling Ms. Delacour on her next assignment, Delphine,” Phineus Doge intervened, and Fleur almost jumped from her chair, not even remembering the man was near - and, as it seemed, eavesdropping.

“You beat me there,” He continued, as if he hadn’t noticed Fleur’s surprise.

Delphine managed to look perplex without even blushing… that woman…

“I’m sorry, Phineus, I assumed…” They were back in English now.

“No need to cry over spilt milk, now.”

Fleur cleared her throat, turning the attention of the pair back to her.

“I have the feeling I’m missing something here.” Even though she wasn’t, she wasn’t missing anything anymore.

She did saw it coming. Madame Maxine had informed her about the discovery, but not only that. Had informed her that the veela catacomb found in France would only open for someone of their own: a veela.

 “I’d discuss it with you in our scheduled meeting, but Merlin’s boot… We’ll need you Ms.Delacour, to help us open the catacomb. Not only for the material treasures we will find, but because it is also believed to contain valuable amount of knowledge on curses, and it can change everything we know, it’s groundbreaking, if it really exists. Certainly groundbreaking.”

“I see.”

She had hoped they wouldn’t expect her to deal with it. She had hoped she would be in Britain, far from this problem. But no. They wanted her because she was a part-veela.

That was why she got the promotion, wasn’t it?  So she couldn’t say no.

Oh Fuck, Dammit, Fuck!

She felt her insides churning and drowned her glass of champagne in one go.

She didn’t want to think about it right now, or she was pretty sure the ugly part of her veela would make an appearance.

“We can discuss the specifics when I’m in London next week,” Doge proceeded, as nothing out of the ordinary has transpired.

“Of course, now,  _eef_ you e’cuse me, I must go to  _ze_  toilette.” Her accent thickening was never a good sign, but thankfully they didn’t know her enough to realize that.

She was sprinkling some water on her wrists when Delphine walked in.

“ _I’m sorry, I thought you knew, I didn’t mean to-_ ”The woman touched her shoulder lightly, her fingers grazing along her neck.

The woman wanted her. Fleur could feel it radiating from her. She could smell her arousal from even touching her skin. What the hell. Fuck it.

She turned and grabbed the back of the woman’s head, leading her into a searing kiss.

When they separated, Delphine was breathless, but Fleur just wanted to let off some fucking steam, to find a way to not think about anything at all.

 _“Would you like to go elsewhere?”_ Fleur extended her hand.

Not a single word as uttered as Delphine, in the very next second, accepted it.

They apparated in her hotel in wizard Dublin, where the headquarters of Gringotts and the first regional was located.

There was nothing tender about the way they went to bed, or the way Fleur undressed the woman, or the way she sucked on her breasts and bit on her nipples.

Nothing gentle when Fleur plunged two fingers into her waiting core, setting a relentless pace of fucking away her frustrations. It was rough, and Delphine, if her moans and her hands clawing on her back were any indication, liked it rough.

Delphine wasn’t shy when she dove down on Fleur and started to eat her out until she came hard, gripping those dark curls of hair.

They fucked each other until all Fleur wanted was to turn on her bed and sleep alone.

But she was kind when she gave Delphine a last kiss and suggested she’d spent the night in her own room. And in kindness, Delphine smiled, kissed her hand and left Fleur’s bed. And Fleur didn’t even realized she was sleeping in the right side of the bed, the side that usually was Bill’s side.

It was just when Fleur was back at her own apartment from Ireland that she realized that her just fucking away her frustrations also... also made her grasp how much she missed herself.

She hadn’t thought about Bill that much anymore, but there was always the wonder. And now... it vanished, as she openheartedly accepted that Bill was a turned page on her life, and that Fleur didn’t miss.

She missed her own company, she missed making her choices without him, facing the consequences without him, she missed sleeping in whatever the fuck side of the bed she wanted, because now the bed was all hers…

She missed living without him.

Apparently… She had just fucked away Bill, too. And that was just too precious.

Delphine gave Fleur more than orgasms, she made her realize she was truly free.

 She would have sent Delphine some chocolate, or maybe flowers, if those weren’t also send the wrong message.

She was free, but Delphine wasn’t the one she wanted to get attached.

  


On her second day back to work in Britain, her HR manager returned her list of gratifications to her employees with a lot of notes.

She took the report and frowned when she saw the numbers of her Elite team.

Her best team of researchers and curse breakers, consisted of one woman and one man. Milly Wipkins, the curse breaker, and Antonin Fletcher, the researcher. Now, she had assigned for them to receive one thousand galleons. Seven hundred to Wipkins and three hundred to Fletcher. She had good reasons for it.

First, not only Milly was the curse breaker, and traditionally, should receive more bonus, but mainly because she was key to the most lucrative finding they had in the last months. A mausoleum of noble wizards of the 13th century.  She pursued the leads, she explored, she was there doing the heavy work, and Antonin, in this specific case, was only just assisting. Doing the bare minimum, because he was also working in a lead that turned out to be nothing.

Now. Her HR manager found it to be reasonable to invert the sums, giving seven hundred to Antonin and three hundred to Milly.

That just wasn’t right.

She continued reading the report and the pattern was there: when there was a team of a woman and a man, he lessened the gratification to the woman and increased the gratification to the man. Not satisfied, he also lessened the gratification on teams composed by two women and added what he saved in the teams of two men.

Oh, no.

Not on her freaking watch.

Fleur got up from her desk, paper in hand, and marched to the HR manager office. Without knocking, she pulled the door open.

“Hey boss,” There was a disdain in his voice and Fleur wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before.

“What is the meaning of this?” She slammed the report on his desk, sitting on the chair in front of him.

“The distribution of the bonuses,” He answered as if she was stupid.

“I can see that. What I can’t understand is why you ripped what I gave you and assembled a new one.”

He paled, like any sane man would when confronting a pissed off veela.

“I just made some adjustments I thought would work out best.”

Fleur stared at him with fuming eyes.

“What was your logic here? Because I don’t think you based this numbers on merit.”

He sighed.

“Boss-”

“Ms. Delacour.”

He blinked and swallowed hard.

“Ms. Delacour, I see where your doubts lays, but this is just the way we’ve always done.”

“What? Giving a woman less than she deserves and reward a man above what he is due?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that…” He averted his eyes.

“Oh,” Fleur pushed, “How would you put?”

“There are studies that shows that women work better when they believe they are not performing their… very best. And that men respond better when they see they are being seen.”

Realization drowned on her. That is why Bill always got better gratifications than her. Not because he was better, what she had believed for years… no… but because of a sexist man assigning the bonuses.

Oh, was she furious now.

“So you belittle women because you believe they will be more productive?”

“I-”

“These studies are outdated, Robert, and if you were doing a diligent job, you would know that.”

“Ms. Delacour…”

“Here is what is going to happen: you are going to sign my original report, as we both know your validation is only a formality, and I ‘m the new… how did you put it? Boss around here. The boss believes that each and everyone that works here deserve a bonus based on merit and not on some outdated study, is that clear?”

She heard him grumble something about  _goblins,_  and the very little that was left of her patience disappeared.

“The goblins, Robert, are interested in making money from wizards and witches. And there is no company that makes money with unmotivated, unvalued and unhappy employees, so we are just assuring that those wizards, as well as the witches, and therefore, the goblins, are happy.  _Are we clear_?”

“Yes, Ms. Delacour,” He mumbled.

“Good. You have until the end of the afternoon to give back the new, or rather, the old report back to me. Signed.”

She got up and, just before she reached the door, she turned her head.

“And Robert, if I catch a whiff that you behaved with sex bias again, you are out.” And then Fleur left without looking back.

Merlin’s beard.

That felt so good.

She felt like a celebration was in order. 

And she had just the person in mind she could ask to join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks a lot for reading. Believe it or not, I just had lots of fun writing this chapter.  
> Things are a little slow so far, I guess, but the plot needed maturing; we are going to pick up soon enough.  
> don't forget to tell me your thoughts on this.


	6. Pride and Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I took some liberties here. This piece is set in 2003, and Pride and Prejudice was release in 2005... well, bear with me.  
> I left several easter eggs around the chapters, in regard of how Fleur and Hermione's curse connect. Stay alert!  
> Aaand: enjoy!

_“Fleur,_

_I hope this owl finds you well._  
_Unfortunately, I’m currently still at the office, working a very tight schedule; in fact, as I write this, a document nested in the pile of papers in my desk just folded itself into a paper plane and is now flying around the room trying to get my attention. Oh wait. I think it’s going to attack me now._  
 _Rain check?_

_Yours,  
Hermione Granger”_

 

Fleur smiled slightly, picturing the scene in her mind: the paper plane poking Hermione insistently on the head, making her huff at it; her hair tousled from the late hours, and her shirt rumpled from sitting for too long; her lipstick gone and her beloved tea cooling in her mug.

It caught her by surprise, the precision of details she conjured to distract herself from the disappointment.

It was a strange feeling, being rejected. Fleur wasn’t quite used to it – not to invite someone nor to being brushed off.

It was almost as if she got dump really, which didn’t even made sense, none of it. Hermione probably was busy working late, and probably couldn’t meet with her due to circumstances out of her reach. She even asked for a rain check.

She wasn’t just being polite, right? It was an open door for future… outings.

Fleur wasn’t being dump: Fleur never got dump; in fact, she was the one that did the dumping.

Anyway. Not dumped.

She sighed, annoyed. What was she to do now?

Her eyes turned to the TV and the DVD player.

Oh, well.

So, she was at a video rental store two blocks away from her apartment and she has never had the guts to enter. Would she make much of a fool of herself there? Until weeks ago, she didn’t even know what DVDs were for.

She frowned at the rows of shelfs filled with those allegedly “movies”.

“Hey, what are you looking for?” A teenager girl wearing the uniform of the store asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Romance? Horror? Comedy? Fantasy? Rom-Com? Drama? Epoch?”

“Epoch seems fine,” She said after a moment of contemplation. What the heck was Rom-Com?

“Okay, give me a sec.” The girl made a ball with her bubblegum and popped it before diving into one sector of shelves.

She was back with two DVDs.

“Titanic, a classic, obviously,” The girl rolled her eyes. “But always nice to watch again.”

Fleur got the movie and smiled. Watch again? She watched a total sum of zero movies in her life. But she was not about to tell the unsuspected teen that.

“And Pride and Prejudice. It’s just out, but based on a classic book from Jane Austen, which of course you must know.”

“Of course,” Fleur didn’t. “I’ve read it a thousand times.” She have not.

The girl popped another ball of bubblegum.

“You liked it? Because personally I feel Mr. Darcy is _sooo_ overated.”

“Overestimated,” Fleur nodded along, trying to appear as muggle as she could. “But I’m giving him a second change. As I’m at it, I may as well as re-watch Titanic.”

“You know, they say sometime people will stop crying over Jack and Rose, but I doubt it.”

Now, Fleur just smiled.

“Where is the register?”

“Follow me. Do you have membership card?”

Fleur wanted to groan. She had the feeling she would have to _confundus_ the girl when she asked for an ID.

Those movies were better be worth it.

 

 

The movies were worth it.

And the girl was right: Mr.Darcy was overated and people would always cry about Titanic.

She would have to tell Hermione all about her first experience watching movies. Maybe not the part about crying.

But yes, all about the rest of it.

 

 

Phineus Doge was that kind of man that exuded power and commanded the room with one glance. Tall, well-dressed, ambitious and sharp. Fleur could see why the goblins bet their money (literally) on him as Global Head of Treasures.

But Fleur was not one to be intimidated. Many said she, herself, commanded the room with one disdainful look on her face.

It was pointless, really, that he stood for seconds after Fleur sat, and got a stronger than necessary grip on their handshake. Fleur would not bend or bow. Instead, she squared her shoulders and shot him her best mean-business look as he – finally – decided to take a sit.

“I take you had a safe journey?” She started with the boring, but necessary, pleasantries.

“Safe indeed,” Phineus drawled. “Not yet pleasant, though.”

Fleur wanted to huff, but instead, she smiled.

“I see you don’t bite around the bushes, Phineus. I didn’t even have the time to ask how you take your tea.” She placed her hands on top of the table.

“No, Ms. Delacour, I’m not prone on dwelling,” He deadpanned. “And no tea, thank you.”

“I suppose we have that in common,” Fleur offered. “You sent me this file last week,” She took said file from her drawer.

“I assume you’ve read it?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Well?”

“As much as such a discovery speaks to me in a personal level, being a quarter veela myself, I’m afraid that this is precisely the reason why I can’t open the catacomb.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Ms. Delacour,” The man retorted, and they both knew he understood it right.

“The catacomb can only be opened by someone with veela blood, do you conjecture why?”

“I don’t conjecture. I know for a certain that there is a curse to be bestowed on anyone who doesn’t have veela blood and is brave enough to try opening it.”

“I don’t mean the curse,” She clarified with a flick of the wrist. “I mean the reason behind it. There is a reason why the veelas didn’t want any outsiders opening their place of eternal rest, one that involves our culture, our rituals, our memory. This is very personal, I can’t do it while I’m not sure what it would mean to me partake in such a sacred moment…and then sell what I find there. It would be something that will probably take a severe toll on myself.”

Doge was displeased. Fleur could see from the way the turn his lips downwards ever so slightly. He hid well, but not to Fleur.

“What if we can guarantee your safety?” He started to bargain.

“And could you possibly guarantee me that?” Fleur said, and after a moment of silence, she added: “I don’t believe you could. This is ancient magic we are talking about. Ancient magic of mystical creatures.”

“We can take precautions, we have great specialists from around the word. Specialists in ancient cultures, in healing. This would be not for your personal gain, you do realize that?”

“Maybe not for mine,” She said, leaving out the part where it would be personal gain for Doge and, obviously, Gringotts

Doge got the message, anyway.

“I believe you are aware that the second war left us as spoils, thousands of cursed people. People that have died and people that are dying, sooner rather than later. That is the treasure we seek. The cure of said curses.”

“And how much will we profit from it?”

Doge stared blankly at her.

“You work at a bank, Ms.Delacour. A very competitive bank. Don’t tell me you hate profits, that you loathe galleons and bonuses.”

Oh. They were approaching a dangerous zone. Threats would be subtly made, she had no doubt. He was already starting to cash in the favor she supposedly owed him.

“Clearly, I don’t hate profits, Phineus, give me some credit. But I’d hate to sell myself and my heritage for it.”

The man stared at heh and she stared right back. It was a pivotal moment, that one. Who would come on top would be the one to hold the deck. Neither were willing to back away, but maybe they could compromise.

“Phineus, I honestly have nothing against the opening of the veela catacomb in France. In fact, I believe is a tremendously important discovery that yes, can cure a lot of people. I won’t stay in your way. But I don’t want to be personally involved. I can’t betray my blood. I don’t know how I would live with myself after facing the obstacles there will still be there – even for a veela. You ask me too much.”

Phineus sighed.

“You are not who I thought you were, Ms. Delacour.”

“And what was that?” Fleur asked, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t fearful of the answer.

“A woman who would do anything to get what she wants.”

She blinked. No. She did not believe all could be achieve if you didn’t mind the means. The means mattered greatly.

It was a minute or so before Doge was speaking again.

“Are you open to a deal? You would be the best, because you are the only high-ranked veela amongst the bank employees, and you must know how classified this mission is, but I can try and find another veela. I will do my best. But if I don’t find – Fleur, we will have to talk again.” The man stood up from his chair.

“That is a deal I can make,” She stood up too and shook his hands. “I can also assist, if you need me for anything else other than opening the catacomb. I’m fluent in veela language, and I might even know few of the perils the one who opens it might face.”

“Appreciate.” He got his hat and his cape and turned to leave.

Before he got though, Fleur just had to ask.

“Do you regret hiring me, now?” She blurted, looking at him with piercing eyes, trying to see the truth there, and very afraid of what she would find.

“No, Fleur, I don’t. You truly were the best for the job. And now that I’ve seen your integrity, I’m even more certain that I made the right call. Opening the catacomb or not.”

She did not realize how much her heart was pounding until the man left. A sense of relief washed over her and she laughed. She just laughed.  

She was promoted because she was good. Not because she was a veela, no.

Because the was the _fucking best_.

 

 

It was night when someone ringed her interphone. And then knocked on her door.

And damn it, Fleur barely had the time to look presentable in her camisole, all she got was a robe, no time for make-up, damn it, also no time to properly brush her hair.

But there she was, opening the door to one Hermione Granger holding… flowers?

Fleur almost groaned. She must be looking utterly unalluring right now. But hell if she would let it show.

“Plan to woo me with flowers, Ms. Granger?” She said in a teasing voice, opening space for the woman to walk in.

Hermione laughed.

“Of course not. If I were to woo you, it would not be by gifting you something as unimaginative as flowers, rest assured.”

“Oh,” Fleur took the beautiful calla lilies in her hands, “What are those for, then?”

“A house warming gift. Those flowers are supposed to never loose their scent, as long as you don’t go and kill it.”

“I can handle my flowers, thank you,” Fleur huffed, but then smiled as she arranged them in a vase.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you the other day,” Hermione started.

Fleur batted her hand, “You have nothing to be sorry about, have a sit, I’ll fetch us some… red wine, right?” She smirked as Hermione blushed and nodded.

Once they were settled, Fleur asked, “How is this job of yours that keeps you up all night?”

Hermione shrugged, “I don’t mind. I believe I finally had some progress. I feel I’m on the verge of… of something.”

“Let’s toast to that,” Fleur beamed. “To the verge of something.”

Hermione chuckled and toasted along.

“What is it you do for a living? It just came to me that I have no idea what you work with.”

Hermione contemplated for a second.

“Well, I’m a partner in a company that develops new technology, from potions to machines, to spells, to anything, really, that can be transformed into a new way of healing. We work alongside the Ministry, St. Mungus, other companies and suppliers.” Hermione was very professorial, and It made Fleur smirk.

“That’s important, some important job you have,” Fleur crossed her legs deliberatively, and was thrilled to see that Hermione followed her movement.

She could feel. She could feel the attraction in the room. Consuming her, reaching to her veela, begging her veela to do something. Allure her, flirt with her, conquer her. It made Fleur buzz and warm on the tips of her fingertips, in the pit of her stomach, in her… well.

It was liberating. She missed feeling her veela so excited about someone. But she probably should tone it down a little, or they soon wouldn’t be able to converse properly, if her aura were to expand to the room, making the air thicker and their breaths labored.

Hermione was still flushed, so Fleur toned it down a little bit more.  

“And how’s that promotion working for you?”

“Well… I’ve been to Ireland for a quarter meeting.”

“How did it go?”

“I beat the patriarchy and won loads of money,” She said with a dangerous smirk.

Hermione laughed, “We should toast to that, too.”

“Oh, my, Hermione, are you trying to get me drunk?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and they toasted anyway.

“So now that you’re living the life of the one percent, you should buy me dinner at a very expansive place. You know, to repay the universe.”

Fleur laughed, delighted, and she couldn’t help but tease some more.

“You are very bad at asking people on a date, if they paying is the condition.”

Hermione threw a cushion – the one she had helped choosing the pattern – at Fleur.

“To repay the universe, you arrogant git.”

Fleur was still laughing when she answered, “Friday, seven o’clock. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date!” Hermione insisted, then her eyes landed on the DVDs boxes Fleur had yet to return.

“You watched those? I love Titanic! Oh, I’ve been dying to watch Pride and Prejudice, I loved the book. Jane Austen is a genius.” Hermione’s eyes looked like those of a kid in the Christmas’ morning.

“Want to watch it now?”

The woman turned to her with a beam and… puppy eyes?

“Have you not already?”

Fleur was utterly charmed in that moment.

“No, I have not.” She lied. “We can order some Chinese.”

Hermione joined her hands in excitement. “Let’s!”

So, Fleur didn’t tell her about how was the experience of watching movies for the first time, because watching those same movies for the first time with Hermione, as they ate Chinese and drained her stock of wines? Much better.

It was almost 2 in the morning when Hermione was ready to head home, and they hugged goodbye. Damn those veela hormones, wanting her to inhale on Hermione’s hair, too hard to keep in check.

“See you Friday,” Fleur said by the door, “on our date.”

“It’s not a date!” Hermione said one last time before the door was closed on her face, leaving a flustered woman on the outside and a grinning woman on the inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support so far. Sometimes I feel I little uninspired, and I read your review and go right back on writing.  
> Tell me what your thoughts are!  
> And next chapter: the date/not date :)


	7. One experience

“I believe it’s a date,” Hermione announced before frowning. “Is it a date?” She asked aloud, but didn’t look like she was expecting any answer; in fact, it was only a moment before she concluded with a nod to herself: “It’s a date.”

Draco raised one eyebrow at the pacing woman before him, adjusting himself on the chair.

“Honestly Granger, I pay you well enough, don’t I? Why you cadge meals from girls I can’t fathom.” He drawled.

Hermione shot him a scathing look.

How had she got herself in a situation where she poured her heart out to Draco Malfoy about her unexpected date (tentative title) with Fleur Delacour? They were gathered at her office to talk business! Business! And a, rather brilliant, one might add, idea Hermione had to solve the problem with Astoria having a baby whilst cursed. Not to talk about her love life. Yet, the mistake was done.

Also, he didn’t pay her.

“You don’t pay me. You may be a major shareholder in this company, but that doesn’t mean-”

“My point,” Draco interrupted her, “Why Ms. Delacour even agreed to that awful excuse of asking for a date is beyond me, I hope you do better in the future.”

“The future?” She chose to ignore the jab, “What future?”

 “Where are those friends of yours when you need them, anyway? Is there a reason why you are discussing this with me?” He asked offhandedly.

“What, are we not friends?” Hermione put her hand in her chest, feigning offense.

 “Sure, we share concerns with each other, you dine with my family on occasions, and, all right, you could say I look for your interests, but does _that_ make us confidants?”

Hermione was about to give him a crossed retort when she saw the smirk on his face. She rolled her eyes.

What was she still doing having that conversation? It all started with the flowers. Giving flowers, under any circumstances, apparently, sent a romantic message, Malfoy told her. But it was such a great house warming gift, and also! Calla lilies were innocent flowers. What was she supposed to give Fleur? Muffins? Of course not.

Malfoy knew nothing.

Also, he was a jerk.

“You are a jerk,” She stated, making him shrug. “Fleur is Ron’s and Ginny’s former sister in law, I can’t possibly discuss this with them. And Harry would only look uncomfortable all the way through it.”

“Why are we discussing this at all?” Draco asked, without a bite. “You two get along well, she is attractive, competent enough, for what I gathered, and not to mention,” He raised on finger, “She is a _veela_. That must make things interesting in the bedroom.”

Hermione should probably cut the conversation short. She shouldn’t be talking about veelas in the bedroom, not just because it was dreadful to even portray people like that. Like beings commonly known as salacious, seductive, beautiful, irresistible- But! Because she should be spending all her efforts and mental energy in finding a cure for herself, and Astoria, and hundreds that, like them, were cursed. Cursed!

And Malfoy should feel ashamed of objectifying Fleur like that.

 “That is very objectifying, even for you,” Hermione admonished with that scolding tone she had perfected so well.

Draco had the decency to clear his throat, but still, he tried to clarify, “What I mean is, it would be quite an experience, and isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Experiencing?”

Hermione winced, taking a breath before sitting on her abandoned chair.

“You were the one to tell me off on this matter,” She tried to save some face.

“No, no, Granger,” He was fast to correct her, “I said you had to be careful, not stop altogether.”

Hermione sighed, casting her eyes down as she admitted, “It’s different. She is a friend, not someone I’ll never see again, she is-” Fleur. She didn’t say out loud, but that was the truth, for all her hesitation. She was Fleur.

 “Granger,” Draco started softly, “I’ve never seen you fret this way about someone. If there is no future, there is no future. It could be good regardless.”

She wouldn’t ever admit to him, but she had that feeling that it would be good. Of course, it would. She could feel it in the air, in her fingertips, in the way her lungs asked for breath when Fleur touched her, in even the most candid of touches, or when she looked at her with anything but innocence. It would be good.

Was that excuse enough to dive in?

“Get out of your head,” Draco called her, and Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. Was she overanalyzing it? She could admit she tended to do that. You know. Sometimes.

“For now, take her to dinner. Well-” He scoffed, “Be taken to dinner. And _experience_.”

Hermione was staring at him, for once at loss of words. It seemed simple enough. A dinner. An experience. She felt chills running through her arms at the thought.

 “Yes,” She said firmly. Get out of her head. Don’t make a big deal. She could do that. “I will.”

Draco knocked two times on the desk of her office, as if to say, _finally._

And then, well, he just had to go on and say it, hadn’t him?

“What if she is just looking for fun, too? She’s just divorced.”

Oh.

There was that, too.

She didn’t even have the time to process that not so new information, when Harry just barged into her office, her secretary hot on his heels.

“Am sorry, mam, I told you were busy, but he just…”

“There is alright, Ethel,” Hermione was quick to reassure her distressed secretary. “Draco?”

“I’m already gone,” The man took his belongs and stood before Harry. “Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry replied impassively.

When Draco was out, Harry didn’t waste time replacing him in the sit the man was occupying.

“Harry, is everything alright? You don’t usually come here.” Hermione frowned. Her friend looked pale. Something was, for sure, not alright.

“Mione,” Harry started, running his hand through tousled his hair like he always did when he was concerned. “I don’t know, you have to tell me.”

Hermione was intrigued, to say the least, but she had a tug on her heart that told her all she needed to know.

Oh my God.

Harry had found out.

“Harry,” She started, her voice breaking, “I-What do you mean?”

The man sighed.

“I came here set on giving you the lecture of your life, you know,” He started with a tired tone. “But now that I’m here… I just have to ask, I’m trying to crack this in my mind for days, I- Mione…”

“Harry,” She said, trying not to sound as choked as she felt.

“Are you cursed?” The man just blurted, his eyes vulnerable and pressing, demanding a truthful answer.

Hermione swallowed dry. She couldn’t lie to him. She just couldn’t.

“Yes.” She breathed out.

“Fuck!” Harry bumped one fist on her desk, making her ink drop and stain the scattered papers. “I’m sorry,” He said in a small voice. “But fuck.”

“I-” She was struggling with her words. “I should be the one that says I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to worry you guys and…”

“Worry?” Harry hissed. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t want to worry us? For how long you know it?”

“Two years,” Hermione answered with a strangled voice. “I’m sorry, I thought of telling you a hundred times, just, something was always coming up and then, and then I guess I lost my nerve.”

“We follow the money of some of the old families of death eaters, you know? We track money, I wasn’t breaking bank secrecy. Malfoy was making all these moves, placing amounts here and there, and all towards two causes. Financing studies on people who were cursed after the second war, and to your company. It was not easy, but I was starting to make connections. I found out his wife is cursed, but that was more to it, I knew it in my gut. I started to follow closer on the money he was injecting here, and all the projects you were also so invested in. This one in particularly, has been your pet for over a year. The cure to that curse.”

Hermione put her hands on her face. Too ashamed, too sad, too emotional to say anything.

“And then… and then I heard from a friend from the improper use of magic, and… and the patterns. Little things you said here and there about your dates, how evasive you were to talk about certain aspects of your life, I just thought. I thought it isn’t Mione at all. This is not Hermione behavior. And then it clicked.”

“Harry,” She tried, tears now flowing free across her face.

“It clicked, Mione. The way you lost weight, how you seemed to be always so gloomy, always so bothered and concerned, like you were in another world… and so far away from us, not physically, but… distant.”

“I’m so sorry,” She was crying. “I’m so sorry, I dint want this to ruin all the good that happened after the war was finally over. I didn’t want to be the one that made you all remember that horrible time every time you saw me. And even if it didn’t happen, you all deserve to be happy after everything we went through, how could I be the one to threat this happiness?”

Harry shook his head and removed his glasses to dry his own tears.

“Don’t do that again, Hermione, please. I’m your friend. Ginny, Ron… we are all your best friends. If only we knew… we could be there for you sooner.”

Hermione nodded.

“You are right.”

“Don’t shelter us from this, I beg you.”

Harry, the most prominent auror of the department, the boy who lived, the savior of the word, was there, at her office, begging.

Hermione just got up from her chair and bolted towards him. He caught her midway and into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” She murmured. “So sorry.”

“Me too, Mione,” He was doing lazy patterns with his hand on her hair to comfort her. “Me too. But you got us, you got us. Don’t push us away.”

“I won’t anymore.” She wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

“And please let me know when you tell Gin, because there will be fire and I want to say very, very far away from it.”

Hermione let out a trembling laugh.

“Deal.”

 

 

 

Came Friday, Fleur had sent her an owl with the time of their dinner, but no address. Just: “7 o’clock.” Because also no signature. The only indication it had been a message from Fleur, was the owl, which Hermione recognized.

She huffed at the paper for what could be the thousandth time. That woman was unnerving. Not a single word through the week, and then she just assumed Hermione would be free? The English language had a word for it: presumptuous. _Présomptueux_ , in French; _presunçoso_ , in Portuguese.

Still, Hermione glanced once or twice or twelve times at the clock of one of her meeting rooms, anxious for the mediwitch to conclude her thoughts on wherever was possible an artificial insemination on a magical organism. It had never been done, before. They were able to treat infertility very competently, but insemination had never been done. Yet, anyway.

There had been progress towards it, in less conservative countries, but mainly in order to achieve same sex reproduction. They had registered in recent medic and scientific literature successful cases of magically transforming the genetic material of two ovules in order to achieve the conception for lesbians, but there was not an alternative for two males, for they couldn’t get pregnant – not even with magic. So, scientists were starting to conceive the idea of artificial insemination, however, turning viable two spermatozoids was significantly more complex, and the studies of insemination were put to a hold.

The basis was there. Muggles did it all the time. However, the organism of wizards worked differently, therefore some magical adjustments would have to be made.

If possible, It would be the solution for Draco and Astoria. If another woman could carry their baby, they wouldn’t risk endanger Astoria, and still they would have a child of their own, with their genetic material.

That was the general idea anyway.

Also, it was fifteen past six and the mediwitch apparently didn’t know how to objectively convey her thoughts.

“Grace,” She interrupted when it seemed the woman would start to talk about the same point all over again. “Is it possible artificial insemination on witches?”

The woman cleared her throat, clearly not happy about being cut short on her on-going praise of how Switzerland healers received so much more subsides to research on the field of reproduction.

“Yes. Theoretically, is possible, but I concern about a minor setback.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her, but Grace seemed to enjoy how the specialists in the room suddenly sat up straighter, or how Hermione’s  CFO – who had dozed off at some point of her lecture was suddenly all ears (Hermione didn’t blame him, not really, but surely she would have a talk to him, because no matter how boring, one wasn’t supposed to just fall asleep during an explanation. It just wasn’t polite), so the mediwitch was thrilled with the attention, and clearly creating suspense.

Well, Hermione was not.

“What setback?” She asked, somewhat (or a lot) impatiently.

“I’m afraid there is a chance the baby might be a squib.”

“A squib?!” The CFO blurted loudly, expressing what would be all the incredulity in the room.

“A squib.” Grace confirmed with a solemn nod.

Oh.

There was no way Draco would be joyful about it, was it?

 

 

 

It was about eight when Hermione finished her meeting and knocked on Fleur’s door. She didn’t have time to go home and change, so there she was, wearing her trouser suit she worn all day at work; her hair she just combed, but had no high hopes for it, and a lipstick she applied on the elevator. To sum up: not looking like anyone that was supposed to have a “date”.

Fleur, on the other hand looked obviously gorgeous with a blue dress and nude stilettos, her silver blonde hair cascading beautifully down her shoulders, not to mention that even her make-up was on point.

The woman gave her a once over, but Hermione couldn’t extract what was she was thinking.

“You are late,” Fleur said blankly, crossing her arms.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up in a meeting. But in my defense, you never asked if I could make it at seven.”

Hermione was never very good at apologizing.

“And would you be able, if you hadn’t got caught up?” The blonde raised a brow at her.

“Probably,” She admitted.

“We lost our reservation.” Fleur pointed out with a dignified sniff. As it would seem, there was such a thing.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said again, feeling herself blush. “I know a pizza place in the corner?”

It was then that Fleur broke her serious face and chuckled.

“You have no clue on how to court a woman, do you?”

“What!” But she was smiling too, “The pizza is very good!”

“Don’t worry, there is this other restaurant that always has a table for me. I am, as opposed to some, always very prepared.”

Hermione stared. The nerve! What was the word again? Presumptuous.

“I could go home and change, then I’ll meet you there.”

“There won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? It would only be a minute.”

Fleur looked at her with amusement, “Not one minute more for those who are late.”

“I’m usually always on time, but-”

 “You look very nice on that suit,” Fleur interjected her. “Don’t even think about going home to change it.” Then the woman blinked at her as she retrieved her purse and closed the door behind them.

Hermione gulped, her face already hot and bothered.

“Let us go, then?” Fleur said behind her shoulder, taking the lead and walking ahead like she was a model on the runway of the fashion week.

Well, she definitely looked like one, Hermione thought as she stared at the woman in front of her.

The restaurant was three blocks away, and she soon enough managed to catch her pace and walk beside Fleur.

“You look great, too,” Hermione paid compliments when compliments were due.

“Looks like you are learning,” Fleur remarked, smiling at her and touching her hand on Hermione’s hand. Just touching, not holding.

“Learning what?” As soon as she asked, she already knew the answer.

“How to court me.”

Hermione chuckled.

“You, not a woman?”

“Court me, Hermione,” Fleur said with a smirk. “There will be no other woman tonight.”

She didn’t know if it was the husky tone Fleur used, or the seed of an idea planted on her head about what would entail “tonight”, but Hermione felt shivers down her spine.

She cleared her throat.

“I thought saying you looked great was a little uninspired, though, people must say that to you often.”

 “They do.” Fleur smiled at her, “But you are not people, are you?”

Hermione looked into Fleur’s eyes full of mirth.

“Smooth,” She murmured.

“What can I say? I’m-”

“French?” Hermione tried her chance.

All Fleur did was grin at her and then she stopped abruptly on the street.

“Here is where we are eating tonight.”

Hermione looked around and laughed.

“We are eating French,” She said with amusement. “Fleur, you think you are very cleaver, don’t you?”

“Oh, Hermione,” The blonde took the hand she was touching and placed a kiss on top of it. “I’m just so very French, _ma chéri_.”

Hermione blushed for the third time. And she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last before the night was over.

“Shall we go in?”

Hermione looked at the woman before her and found that she was very into that idea.

“We shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter. You make my day!  
> So, I said this would be the date/not date (date, let's settle), but then, I realized that would be too ambitious for one chapter only, so we’ll have the real stuff next chapter.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed.   
> Don't forget to let me know!


	8. Dating Guide to Dummies

There was a maître, and a spare staff to whom she gave her coat, another that pulled both her and Fleur's chairs. Waiters were scurrying around all raised chins, dressed in black-tie. Over the table, fresh flowers and a single candle lit.  The silverware was extensive: three forks, two knives - and, why not, a knife stand, three spoons, five (five!) glasses.

Hermione first thought was that she was very grateful she read books on French dining and restaurant etiquette before her trip to France when she was a teenager, including, but not only "Mastering the Art of French Dining" and "180 Do’s and Don’ts At The Table".

Her second thought was, she should've changed her attire.

"Fleur!" She urged, whispering not so quietly to the woman - that sat so comfortably and perfectly at place, like she dined in fancy starred restaurants every other night. "I should've changed!"

"Why?" Fleur spoke with a tinge of surprise in her tone. "Non, of course not. Hermione, you look lovely."

She frowned. "I have these clothes on since seven in the morning."

"Really?" Fleur smirked. Nothing good ever came from that smirk, "At seven I had nothing on at all."

In her defense, she didn’t blush this time, she just felt her chin drop.

Fleur had always been outspoken, but outright flirty? That was not the Fleur she remembered. Maybe because she was married? Or maybe because Hermione wasn’t paying attention. Either way, she now had mixed feelings about that shameless woman. Because she liked her attitude, she felt flattered by it. What she didn’t like was feeling caught out of guard every time Fleur said something risqué - which, as it seemed, was often.

“Funny git,” She murmured back. “Look at this place, does it have a Michelin star or something?”

“Two, I believe, _mademoiselle_.” The waiter answered. She didn’t even see him approach.

Hermione cleared her throat, and sent a shocked look at Fleur, that either didn’t caught or was ignoring it completely.

“We are offering this evening a traditional tasting menu, focused on _fruits de mer_ , seafood, but we do have one course of Wagyu Flank Steak. We suggest two options of wine as pairing for each course.”

“ _Fantastique!”_ Fleur said as they were presented the menu.

“I’ll give you a moment.” The waiter bowed and slowly walked away.

“Fleur,” Hermione said solemnly, eyeing the seven freaking courses menu in front of her. “I’m allergic to seafood.”

“What?” Fleur’s face fell. And she eyed Hermione with so much concern. “Are you allergic?”

“Deadly.” Hermione nodded, doing her best to keep her face straight.

“Oh, _non_. But you shan’t worry. I’m acquainted to the chef here, maybe he can prepare you a special dish, or, last case, we can go elsewhere…”

“You know the chef here?” Hermione asked curiously.

“ _Oui._ I helped his wife few years ago. She had some problems with her account in Gringotts. Or rather, the goblins had. Anyhow, I managed for her. Ever since, I have a table here whenever I want.”

Hermione smile at the professional tone Fleur just used.

“At a French Michelin star restaurant.”

Fleur flicked her wrist, “I know, how awful for me.” She quipped.

“I’m not really allergic to seafood.” Hermione admitted.

“What! That was evil!” Fleur retorted, putting her hand over her mouth. “I was truly worried here.”

“Serves you right.” Hermione huffed, but she was smiling, “I’m the most underdressed person in this restaurant, you should’ve said I had to change!”

“I have a thing for trouser suit, what could I do?” Fleur blinked at her. She blinked! "Next time you can take your time and change into something that will make you more comfortable, deal?”

Hermione scoffed.

“Next time? A little presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”

Fleur merely smirked and flipped her hair as she asked the waiter to bring their first course: Caviar, made of hite sturgeon Caviar, toast points, egg, chive, crème fraiche, and, as pairing, Champagne - Taittinger La Française.

“Did you know that caviar is considered by many an aphrodisiac?” Fleur asked casually, but the glint in her eyes was there, sparkling right at Hermione.

“I did know that,” She said matter-of-factly, “No wonder they paired it with champagne.”

Fleur took a dainty sip of her glass and hummed appreciatively.

“And from a fine crop this bottle is.”

Hermione only nodded as she took a bite of her food. It was, as well, excellent.

“You realize when I said you’d have to treat me an expensive meal, I was merely joking,” She pointed out. “Also, I intend to pay my share.”

“You will not,” Fleur huffed, “And it matters not if you were joking, look where it led us. Drinking wine and having dinner at a very good place, together.”

Now Hermione did blush.

“Fleur Delacour,” She started softly, “I must beware of you, you are very dangerous.”

“Why would you say that?” Fleur beamed, looking like she understood perfectly why Hermione said that.

“Those predators’ eyes of yours, and the way you look so fond of sweet talking me.” Hermione drawled, eyes stopping on Fleur’s mouth. “Dangerous indeed.”

Fleur chuckled.

“If I were you, I’d beware of me either, _ma chérie”_

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but Fleur just beamed at her. Insufferable presumptuous woman.

And then Fleur took her hand, and as the warm palm and warm fingers enveloped said hand, she looked up to see that vulnerable look on Fleur’s face again.

“You are dear to me, Hermione. You have nothing to be afraid, nothing at all.”

Hermione breathed in and out slowly.

“And that is why you are dangerous, Fleur.” She replied with a soft smile.

And this time Hermione was almost sure Fleur was the one blushing. Oh. She would so take that as a win.

The second course soon arrived, separating their hands. Now it was Chilled Lobster Claw, paired with a glass of Zenato Lugana Sergio, made with trebbiano grapes. Or as Hermione called, lobster and white wine.

“If you ask me if I know Lobster is aphrodisiac, I’ll hex you.” Hermione announced when Fleur opened her mouth.

The woman laughed.

“And people say you flunked Divination.”

“There was no flunking,” Hermione was fast to rectify. “I drop out, based on the premise that it was only a waste of my time.”

Fleur was still laughing.

“Oh, Shut up!”

“I’m sorry,” Fleur retorted, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “I actually graded Outstanding in Divination.”

Hermione scoffed.

“And what has Divination done for you?”

“Nothing,” Fleur admitted. “I couldn’t even predict you would be late for our date.”

“You’ll never drop this, will you?” Hermione pointed out. “Does it help if I tell I was discussing a procedure that has never been done in the magical world, and that can benefit thousands of people?”

Fleur seemed to contemplate at that.

“Try me.”

“Artificial insemination on a witch.”

Fleur raised one eyebrow, “That does seem interesting.”

“Also, very complex,” Hermione added.

 “You make valid points, Hermione Granger.” Fleur raised her hands in surrender.

“Get used to that, Fleur Delacour.”

Fleur smirked at her, “Oh, you want to talk about the next time now, don’t you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Presumptuous,” She murmured to her glass.

By the fourth course, Smokey salmon and Pinot Noir, Hermione was pretty sure she was a little buzzed.

Her hand was finding Fleur’s more often than not, and she was starting to feel that little pressure in the air again, making her sweat and press her legs together as her fingers traced patterns on Fleur’s hand, and her eyelids became heavy with the tension. She didn’t know if it was Fleur’s aura or hers - brought up by the veela.

Dating a veela, as it seemed, was a bit different than dating muggles.

“Is it mine or is it yours?” She couldn’t help but ask.

Fleur smiled lazily.

“Don’t worry, I’m not using my thrall. And to answer your question, that is both of us.”

She stopped for a moment. Fleur felt it, she said it once. She felt when people were attracted to her, which to be fair, was all the time, Hermione supposed. She also said she could block it. Could she, however, decrease the range? Just to see Hermione, and how she was so attracted to her, it started to make her lightheaded, and not only – surely, because she was drinking all that great wine. Her ears buzzed and thumped as her blood pumped and pumped.

It surprised her how very sudden it had happened. Was she begging for something, or someone, no matter, to reach out and pull her from the numbness, from the cycle of searching for sensations that would, actually, only make her more dormant?

Could Fleur sense that?

Was it just an attraction? A yearning to feel, maybe? A cry for help? An _experiment_?

It pained her she couldn’t put a finger on it. 

When her eyes focused again on the woman before her, Fleur was looking somber and thoughtful. Like when she found her in a muggle bar all those months ago, and she was all melancholic and trying so very hard to hide it.

Hermione realized, she’s been silent for too long. Fleur had a knack for cracking passion and desires, but unless she was using _legilimens_ on her, she couldn’t possibly guess where her mind had just fled to. 

It hit her then, what was the conclusion Fleur reached from her silence. Hermione wanted to smack herself.

“I’ve never thought you would be using your thrall.” She said quickly and very seriously, it was pivotal Fleur knew she wouldn’t make that of her.

Fleur smiled at her, it was all teeth and no emotion, and tried a casual: “Why not?”

But it was not casual, Hermione could see the apprehension in her eyes,  eyes that mere months ago spoke nothing to her, but now seemed to write all kinds of poems and narratives.

“That is just not who you are, is it?”

“ _’Ow_ can you be sure of _eet_?”

As it seemed, Fleur was a little buzzed too, her accent dancing in her tong and making Hermione bristle at the feeling it elicited in her gut.

“I trust you, Fleur. And whatever is this change in the air, maybe I should trust it, too.” She replied honestly and hoped the other could see it in her eyes she meant it.

Fleur’s grip on her hand tightened.

“And maybe you are _ze_ one that is dangerous, _chérie_.”

Hermione couldn’t avert her eyes from Fleur’s as she answered, “nonsense.”

When they were tasting the fifth course, Scalop with Merlot, Fleur was telling Hermione all about how she beat the patriarchy and won loads of money.

“I can’t believe they try to cut your gratification by half! That’s just plain sexism! They would never try to do that if you were a man!”

“Right?” Fleur finished her glass. “But at least at my department, I put a _‘old_ to _eet_. The prick even told me, _zis_ is _‘ow_ we’ve always done _zings_.”

“The nerve!” Hermione shook her head. “I’m impressed you didn’t just sack him.”

“I almost did,” Fleur informed her, “But now _‘e_ knows very well _zat_ if he steps out of _ze_ line again, _‘e’s_ done.

Hermione nodded vigorously in approval.

“At my company we are very strict about equality of wages. I created a safe line, for anyone who feels undermined or finds themselves suffering prejudice of any kind, to reach out. One of my finest moments as CEO, I tell you.”

The woman looked like she was giving one of her trademark replies, but then she got rigid and sighed.

“What?” Hermione urged.

“I’m sorry for what is about to happen.”

Before she could answer, a woman abruptly pulled a chair from another table an sat on their table. The woman looked mad. Oh my, she was shooting daggers at Fleur.

“My husband is cheating on me,” She announced as suddenly as she arrived, and if glares could kill, Fleur would drop dead in that instant.

“Is he now?” Fleur drawled icily.

Hermione looked at the veela and she was chin up and had a cold glare in her face as she watched the crazy woman on the table.

“He’s been staring at you all night!” The woman proceeded. “It’s with you, isn’t it?!” She accused with spite. 

“It’s not. Now, please, leave.” Fleur retorted coldly.

“Just tell me truth!” The woman hissed, her hand in a fist crashing against the table.

“You heard her,” Hermione intervened. “Leave and let us enjoy our night.”

The woman looked disdainfully at them but made no move to retreat.

“Maybe you are right. George would never sleep with a bitch like you”, She spat at Fleur.

Hermione was about to tell that woman to go fuck herself, when Fleur touched her arm, in a clear message to let it be.

And then se looked at the woman dead in the eye and said calmly: “Yes, I see why he probably does cheat on you, but he didn’t cheat on you with me.  I would never sleep with that disgusting man you call a husband.” And then she added, still as calm as ever, “You are interrupting my date and I don’t appreciate that. Now get out of this table, before I push you out myself.” And then she took a sip from her wine.

The woman stared at her wide-eyed, but she did leave the table, however, not before sending one last nasty glare at them.

“That was just rude,” Hermione blurted. And hot, the way Fleur dealt with her. But she wouldn’t add that.

Fleur sighed.

“I just hate when this happens.”

“Does it happen often?”

Fleur flickered her hand, “You could say that.”

“It must be annoying.” Hermione pointed out.

“It is. I got used to it, but still very annoying.” Fleur replied softly.

“At least she wasn’t here to hit on you,” Hermione tried to lighten the mood.

Fleur chuckled.

“There were three or maybe five individuals that did considered hitting on me but, thankfully, reconsidered quickly enough.”

Hermione stared at Fleur in awe.

“Did you sense all of them?”

“No, of course not, I’m blocking the ambient. I just caught them when they were getting up and sent them some glares. Usually works.”

Hermione laughed, impressed.

“I hadn’t even noticed you did that!”

Fleur smiled, “I have lots of practice.”

Hermione rested her face on her hand and stared at the blonde’s beautiful features, “I bet you have.”

“The only person hitting on me tonight is you, Hermione,” Fleur said with a smirk, and just like that, the mood was all back to normal. And by normal, Hermione meant filled with what could only be called sexual tension.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of her seat, and she was almost jumping towards the blonde to… kiss her, devour her, dear god, to do anything, really.

Fleur smiled at her with a sparkle in her eyes that told Hermione that, even though she was blocking everything, she still knew what she was thinking.

The last course arrived, a simple Strawberry Cheese Cake with Port.

“I love strawberries,” Hermione commented. “They may be my favorite berry.”

“Look at that. Now we have a first date,” Fleur quipped.

“What do you mean?” Hermione eyed her inquisitively.

“Well, I suppose my next first date question would be what’s your favorite color? And then, what do you like to do in your free time?”

Hermione laughed.

“Were those questions retrieved from a Dating Guide to Dummies or something?”

Fleur rolled her eyes, but by the way her cheeks were now tinged with pink, Hermione could just conclude that Fleur was _oh-so-busted_!

She laughed even harder.

“Did you read that book?”

“Oh, Hush.” Fleur tried to maintain her dignity. “I leafed through something like that when I was at a book shop. Hermione Granger, wipe that beam from your face this instant!”

“What, I find it cute,” She taunted.

“Cute?” Fleur said in shock. “I’ve been paid several compliments in my life, and I assure you, cute has never been one of them!”

Hermione was still giggling when Fleur threw a napkin at her.

“Fleur,” She said, feigning being appalled. “We are at a two Michelin star restaurant. You can’t just throw stuff around.”

“Not around,” Fleur said, unapologetic, “Just at you!”

And then, well, they both cracked together in a laugh that took almost a minute to subside.

“My favorite color is green,” Hermione said with a smirk.

 Fleur raised one eyebrow at her.

“ _Non_ , now is too late. No more first date questions to you. You don’t deserve that kind of fun.” Fleur said with haughtiness.

Hermione chuckled, “Thank Merlin!”

And the napkin was thrown at her again.

When the bill came, Fleur almost ripped Hermione’s hand off when she reached for her wallet.

“You can pay next time, this is my treat,” She said solemnly.

So Hermione let Fleur take care of the whole, could-feed-a-family-for-days, bill.

They walked back to Fleur’s apartment talking about everything and nothing at all. She told Fleur anecdotes of the first dates she had, and Fleur told her what were the best and the worst pick-up lines she’s even been subjected to.

Hermione told her what she liked to do in her free time, and that Schindler's List was her favorite movie, or rather, the favorite she told people, because her true favorite movie was The Sound of Music, because she watched it with her parents every Christmas.

Fleur listened and smiled and shared her childhood memories of Christmas with her family, back in France.

It had been all just like the book probably said, even more when they arrived at Fleur’s entrance building and stopped, looking at one another.

And Hermione wouldn’t know who took the first step, but then they were kissing on the sidewalk, and it had been all Hermione pictured it would be and more. They kissed and she had to gasp for air at some point, because it was just so intoxicating, the way Fleur moved her mouth and body against her, and her hands on her waist, and griping her hair, and panting too near her ear and neck, biting and leaving a trail of kisses there – and then kissing her mouth again, open-mouthed and whole. God Damnit, kissing veelas was so not like kissing muggles.

Or maybe it was just that kissing _Fleur_ was so not like kissing other people.

When they pulled apart, all hot and bothered and panting, Fleur extended her hand and asked:

“Do you want to come in?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Took me a while to picture how I wanted this date to go. I hope it was enjoyable for you.  
> Let me know.


	9. Pillow talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to say, here comes the mature content.

Fleur was glowing.

Not, literally, she hoped, but still she felt like she was glowing. She felt the energy inside of her running through her in a perfect flow, it vibrated, actually. Her muscles and her skin and her nerves to her hair roots. It was her and it was Hermione’s, in sync.

It amazed Fleur, how much that visceral part of her enjoyed Hermione’s aura, the way she felt, to the way she moved, to the scent in the air, that the veela feasted like it was a banquet. It had been so long since she connected like that with someone. It happened once or twice with Bill, before the war.

She heard a giggle and her eyes snapped to the side where Hermione laid, head in her shoulder, fingers grazing her sensitive nipples, making Fleur remember the way she pinched them minutes ago. Hermione had a thing for her breasts, she told her.

_“It’s hard to keep my eyes off them”, The woman said as her hands enclosed her tits._

_“That’s,” Fleur started, but Hermione tortuously rolled her nipples between her fingers and she moaned, “very shameless of you.” She completed and was punished with a bite on the top of her tender breasts._

 

She was pulled back to the present when Hermione brushed her nose on her neck and murmured, with a smile: “You sound like my cat.”

“What?” Had it been someone else to say it, she would probably take offence on the spot. But the way the other had said it, Fleur only grinned.

“Crookshanks. He purrs like that after he’s been fed.”

Fleur laughed, taken by surprised. She watched Hermione, who was barely keeping her eyes open. It was her fault, she knew it.

They fucked and fucked, and she had to give it to the woman, she was very good at keeping up with her. But no one, in the end of the day, could outmatch a veela. And Fleur knew, all the sexual energy, all the moans and the orgasms, all Hermione had to give – she drained it all like she’s been in a hunger-strike for days.

Fleur took, and she had, in a way, fed her veela. But she wasn’t a succubus, she also gave back. All the sleepiness Hermione now felt was a restful one, as, while the ancient magic inside of her craved and absorbed all the canalized sexual energy, it also expelled pheromones that induced her partner to a state of bliss.

Of course, she wasn’t a full-blooded veela and those factors were considerably toned down, compared to a full-blooded one. Still, Fleur was aware she had satisfied the woman like only someone like her could.

Her chest swelled with pride as Hermione’s lazy eyelids finally closed. She had worn out the woman until she fell asleep.

Fleur allowed herself to close her eyes too.

_“S'il vous plait,” She panted as Hermione all but licked the extension of her inner thigh, taking care of the spot near her ass, her hand resting on top of her belly._

_The woman stopped and her head moved slightly, hovering above her pussy. Fleur felt Hermione’s breath caress her clit and shuddered, “’Ermione”, she had no control over her accent and her hips shot forward in a plea to be taken._

_The woman only stared at her with intense brown orbs, her mouth hanging open. Fleur thought that it was no more playing around; enough foreplay, she wanted to shout. But instead of taking her like she wanted, Hermione asked with that pretty little mouth of hers, “Did you just beg?”_

_Fleur groaned, frustrated, and the hand that was on top of her moved, grabbing the back of her thigh forcefully and pulling her until her wet, oh so wet, sex, touched Hermione’s abdomen. She wanted to say she wasn’t begging, she really did, but instead, what left from her lips was: “Yes, yes. Just-”_

_She had to say no more as Hermione repositioned herself and finally -finally – mouthed her right_ there _._

 

She woke up to someone getting up from the bed, and had to blink several times to get her eyes to focus.

Hermione was up, putting on her clothes.

“Were you about to sneak out?” Fleur asked softly.

Hermione turned to her, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Oh. She was about to do the walk of shame. No. That wouldn’t do.

“I-” Hermione cleared her throat, guilty written all over her face. “I thought I should…”

“None of that,” Fleur answered. “We are friends, are we not?”

Hermione shook her head and smiled, “We are friends.”

Fleur propped on her elbows and frowned, “I usually send people away.”

The woman tilted her head, “I usually sneak out.”

“I didn’t send you away,” Fleur insisted.

“So I suppose I won’t sneak out,” Hermione started to undress again.

“That would be nice. Now get back to sleep, it’s 4 in the morning.”

Hermione nodded and hopped into bed, burying herself in the covers.

Fleur hummed in approval.

“Did you know,” Hermione started, “That the main formula used to break curses was invented by a witch named Agnes Buckthorn, after she was fated with the ingrown toenail curse?”

Fleur laughed and approached the woman, letting her hand embrace her waist.

“You are horrible at pillow talk, aren’t you?

“That is very interesting fact, Fleur!” Hermione defended, “Especially to you, I would assume, since it is your line of work.”

“I do know that formula. But did you know that Agnes Buckthorn was a veela?” She answered with a teasing smile.

And, by the way Hermione scoffed, she was pretty sure she didn’t.

“Are you serious, she was a veela?”

“She was.” Fleur confirmed.

Hermione rested her hand above Fleur’s, and decided, “I guess it makes sense.”

“Of course,” Fleur said, “veelas were the best curse breakers back in the time.”

“Indeed,” Hermione murmured.

“Now, before you quiz me on the various uses of dragon blood, can we go back to sleep?”

“That’s probably the best idea.” Hermione conceded.

So, they went back to sleep, and it could or could not have happened cuddling at some point.

 

Fleur woke up again to an empty bed, but before she could fully process it, she saw a paper on top of the pillow previously occupied by Hermione.

“Fleur,  
I promise I didn’t sneak out until proper hours and the sun shone bright. I have some errands to run and some work to catch up to.  
I had a lovely time at our date (I admit it, okay?)  
Owl me any time,   
Hermione”

She smiled. It was very Hermione having some errands to do on a Saturday morning. Fleur, on the other hand, liked her beauty sleep whenever she got the chance.

As about having a lovely time… Fleur remembered it well.

_When she entered her, Hermione was more than ready. Her wetness trickled down her legs and it turned her on so much, Fleur felt her own sex ache._

_“Fleur,” Hermione breathed out, digging her nails in her shoulders, as Fleur thrusted in and out, in and out._

_The slippery sounds, mixed with Hermione’s moans, elicited a whimper from Fleur as she watched as Hermione’s legs trembled and her mouth opened in pure delight. She kissed and swallowed her moans, and it was a sloppy kiss, full of bites on her bottom lip that made Fleur shiver with desire._

_“Harder,” Hermione demanded, and fuck, she was more than happy to oblige as she added another digit inside of her._

_“Fuck!”_

_Fleur wanted to say something about how hot Hermione was when she cursed, but then the woman was pushing her shoulders down, and once again, she was much more into the idea of following Hermione’s commands and being a good soldier, if it meant eating her out._

_Fleur wanted to take some time to just take in the scent, but Hermione’s hands were insistent, and okay, maybe she herself wasn’t so patient, so she went for it and Hermione’s taste was heaven in her tongue. She was gentle on Hermione’s clit, for it was so tumid, but damn if she didn’t suck and licked all around her before getting back to her clit as she pumped her fingers inside the woman._

_“Fleur, I’m going to… oh, Fuck!”_

_Hermione came all over her mouth and that tasted even better._

 

The owl peaking her window with her morning Prophet interrupted her reminiscence, and she grumpily got out of bed to retrieve the paper.

Just when she was placing a knut in the bag around the owls neck, another swooshed down and landed in her desk, ruffling her feathers.

She groaned, because she recognized the bird. It was her boss’s.

After she alleviated the cargo of both birds, the owls took flight, leaving her with what would be her mourning routine, interrupted by her boss telling her they had found a young veela that worked on Gringotts in France that would try and open the catacomb, but she still had a chance to go, if she wanted.

It was not an easy decision for her, telling no. She felt like she was being selfish.

Yes, she paid most of her sins and gave back to society during the war, when she fought tooth and nail for the light, but still. The commonly known as “the curse” seemed to be the biggest medical issue of the moment.

People were dying more and more often.

Fleur sighed and accioed a book she had on the curse, to read a few lines, though by now she knew it by heart.

 The curse was mostly asymptomatic. During the last war, Voldemort cursed few objects and anyone who touched or even had been in fleeting contact with those objects could be affected. The severity of the damage varied from the longer the exposure to the object. So that have been several sudden and fast casualties.

But the effect of those who were briefly in contact was not still fully clarified by the scholars, healers and researchers.

While asymptomatic, with time the curse moved to the temporal lobe, and from there it could affect, really, anywhere. It was an intelligent curse, and the curse seemed to have some sort of conscience and discernment of its own. Once it installed in the part of the brain designed to process one’s desire, the curse identified what was the most important thing to the person cursed, and would act differently taking account its discoveries.

That was the reason it was such a difficult curse to break: it was unpredictable in its last stages. For a person that enjoyed the arts, it would affect the vision and hearing; for one who liked to dine and wine, it would affect the liver and the stomach.

In the end, though, it had a pattern: it moved to the heart and the person died of a heart attack.

Many thought it was a curse that was still being developed by Voldemort before he died, so it grew and refined itself, with its own devices. They speculated Voldemort wanted an assured way to kill those who betrayed him, or those he couldn’t put his hands on right away. Those faceless people that would dare to defy him.

The ultimate control method.

All speculations aside, though, Fleur had to herself that maybe it wasn’t Voldemort at all, or rather, it was him, but much more it was the side effects of the energy and the dark arts he evoked, that even him couldn’t anticipate. The price of recurring to the horrible, forbidden – and for a reason - side of magic. Fleur had a strange pleasure imagining that Voldemort himself didn’t even knew he created a curse, and the curse just drained from him what it need to breed and mature.

Anyhow, the curse inflicted so many, and Fleur had a chance to repair it, to do good. How selfish of her was to deny dozens, hundreds of people, a second chance in life?

Yet, she couldn’t bear to do yet another sacrifice.

Entering the veela catacomb was dangerous, it could kill her or drive her mad, and she wasn’t even that attached to her own life. It was the madness that scared her.

The rituals, the spells, she would have to perform. And then she would probably be face to face to the savage, the primal part of her heritage. Her veela finding another, more powerful veelas.

Veelas that would recognize her as only a quarter-veela.

Would they take it away from her? Would they shame her? Would they induce her in an illusion of ancient times that would force her veela to overcome her humanity?

That was no way to know.

So maybe Fleur was being selfish.

But she paid her sins and she gave to society. She fought tooth and nail for the light during the war.

She could be excused, right? She has done her share.

She could be excused.

Right?!

Fleur thought of Hermione. It was a bizarre moment to think about her, and yet, there she was, picturing the woman in her head.

Maybe it was she still felt the scent of the woman in the room, maybe it was the way Hermione made her laugh, so carefree, and she missed it for so long.

Maybe it was it was still so recent, and Fleur just couldn’t keep what happened out of her mind yet.

_The bottom-up shirt had been the first thing to go, and the bra followed next._

_“I really like you in a pant suit,” She said, seizing the woman in front of her, and it was with a flick of her hand, in a very impressive, thank you very much, demonstration of wandless magic, that she removed the last offending pieces of clothing from Hermione._

_Hermione rose one eyebrow at her._

_“What, I just found out I like you better without it,” Fleur smirked, and pulled the woman to the bed before flipping her and getting on top._

 

Despite the sobriety of it all, she smiled.

Fleur had a job that fulfilled her. Fleur had, at least for the moment being, Hermione.

So, as far as veelas catacombs were concerned, she was spared.

She had to be spared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS,  
> Seriously, i've written sex scenes before, but never have I used words like "pussy" and "tits". But this is Fleur, and I'm an adult, you know, with adult stuff in my life. So I'll use the words.   
> Noooooow, will you let me know what you thought of this?  
> Yes?  
> So I'll see you soon :)


	10. The boss is a tough nut to crack

Fleur raised her arm to protect her eyes from the dust and the shrapnel flying around, she bent her knees to endure the impact of the explosion without falling on her butt, changing rapidly her feet in a practiced move. It would have worked perfectly had it not been the bony hand suddenly clasping around her throat, scraping her neck with its overgrown nails and trying to squeeze the breath out of her. She stumbled backwards, the pressure becoming too much to bear as her eyes teared up.

Then it was all gone in a flash of red light and a morphed cloud of bone dust and mold.

She coughed, her left hand raising in a reflex to massage her sore neck as her right hand pocketed her wand back in its holster. She sighed, annoyed.

"Smith," She started, her voice raspy from the assault of the skeleton. "Next time, don't blast a coffin you can't easily open! Has it occurred to you that it's sealed by magic?

"I'm so so-sorry", the young man stuttered as his wide eyes stared at her, astonished. "He -he told me to burst it open!" The fresh-out-of-school blonde pointed a trembling finger to Antonin, the researcher of her Elite team, that was now snickering.

"He was testing you, clearly," Fleur retorted with no little exasperation. "Curse-breaking does not consist in bursting things open!"

"Sometimes it does," Milly, the curse-breaker, pointed out.

Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm sorry," Joe Smith, their new trainee, repeated, looking embarrassed, "are you hurt?"

Before she could answer, Milly beat her to it with a scoff.

"Of course not, the boss is a tough nut to crack. I gave a blow job once that made more damage to my throat than that little squeeze on Fleur's."

Antonin laughed, "Introduce me to this man, please."

"Shut up!" Fleur hissed, her lips shaking slightly from the effort not to smirk. Joe's mouth was hanging open, as his face colored beet red.

"I trusted you to train our new guy from America, and this is what you have to show?" She started the lecture. "If he fails, you fail, and if my so-called Elite team fails, I fail! Needless to say, I do not like failing!"

She paused to stare at her properly admonished employees, that were now mumbling apologies at her.

"This project of bringing wizards and witches from abroad to share experience and grow together is very dear to me," Fleur said seriously, "therefore it should be dear to you too, got it?"

They nodded very quickly, and Fleur accepted without another word on the matter. Molly and Antonin were quite the pranksters, but they were the best that was, had good chemistry on the field, and got things done. Fleur liked them. That is why she trusted the less experienced of her new group of trainees to them. They would make a fine curse-breaker out of him, and their antics would surely fix the naivety of Joe Smith soon enough.

"Now, Joe. The skeleton is all but gone, no thanks to you, but we must salvage it, since we go from the premise that anything in here may contain hidden treasures. So, what do we do?"

Joe was grimacing and frowning in what could only be described as the less appealing concentration look ever.

"If he says _reparo_ , I swear to God..." Milly whispered aloud to Antonin, and Fleur turned her head to shot them a warning glare.

"Come on Joe, you know that. The answer is in the bibliography I personally recommended to you."

He squinted his eyes before turning to her, excitedly: "we collect a sample to brew a reconstructive potion that can recreate the same skeleton when we bathe another, ordinary, skeleton with the potion?"

"Very good," Fleur praised.

Joe was looking at her with doe eyes and in awe. Fleur wanted to smack his head. The man wasn't yet used being in the presence of a part-veela, as it seemed.

"Snap out of it! And get a vial to collect the sample," She commanded, startling the boy into action.

"You can, however, use just a repairing charm on the coffin. We will inspect later and Milly will tell the precautions we take when a coffin is involved, and what we must collect or register for the researcher analysis." she informed, glaring at Milly again.

"For now, let's move on to the next coffin. Antonin, since bursting it open didn't quite work, teach Joe here what could."

Antonin complied fast enough, still affected by her lecture.

"First, we have to scan the area for any physical threat, then we have to detect possible curses and identify it in order to use the proper counter-course. After that, we must collect data on the kind of charm or hex that is keeping the coffin sealed before we try to open it."

"So no bursting it open, right, Antonin?" Fleur mocked.

"Precisely, boss," he answered with his eyes casted down.

"Alright, so now you can guide Joe through all of the steps."

She retreated a little to watch the men work, when Milly came to stand by her side.

"So, what do you think?" Fleur asked.

“About Joe? He's going to be the best of the whole group of trainees after we are done with him. He'll give that Brazilian girl that explored the sacred fields of the old Amazonians a run for her money, you will-"

"Not that," Fleur interjected. "About this mausoleum. You think there are anything interesting here?"

"Well. We may find some gold in the alchemy lab, and some potentially dangerous ingredients, used by the ancient alchemist guild. But my bet? The treasure will be in the books and manuscripts. I mean, Flamel was a part of a guild just like this one, and he did manage to create his own version of a philosopher's stone."

Fleur hummed in agreement.

Gringotts creating a stone that could transform any metal into gold and produce the elixir of life?

Damn, she would get a very, very generous bonus next quarter, and so would her team.

But then, suddenly...

Her heart raced as her mind began to scrutinize the idea.

Her thoughts went to The curse. The elixir could extend the life of those who drank it, but it couldn't cure diseases or curses. It could be used as a palliative, she suspected. Knowing the goblins as she did, a very expensive palliative. That is, if they even decided to make it available for others.

And what if the next dark wizard or witch got their hands on an object such like the philosopher's stone, or the instructions to fabricate something akin to it? They would live forever. It was not a farfetched option, Voldemort thought of it himself.

Milly clicked her tongue, which generally indicated she thought of something that was usually on the bull's eye.

"Wait, wasn't there a biography that mapped the hiding places of the guild Flamel was a part of?” It was somewhere around Dorset. There are records of his visits to Great Britain, especially Devonshire, where he died."

Fleur was familiarized with said biography. Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, were ones of the most famous alumni of Beauxbatons, they even had a fountain baptized in their tribute. She could swear she once saw Perenelle leaving Madame Maxine’s office once, and just after that the couple died. Surprisingly of old age. Later Fleur found out why was that.

She remained in silence as her brain made the connections.

Fleur knew that Flamel lived in France for at least four hundred years. But that didn’t prove anything. Alchemists’ guilds often traveled through the world and changed basis, for security reasons. In fact, that was indeed a rumor that in Dorset county (where they now stood, and that coincidently or not has a border to Devon, where Flamel indeed died), was a possible hideout for all sorts of unions, back in the day, due to its… interesting (very dangerous) fauna and flora. Flamel’s included.

“Fleur?” Mille called. “Wasn’t it somewhere around here?”

"Was it, now?" She feigned a skeptical tone.

In the face of Fleur's apparent disinterest, Milly frowned. She was not one to second guess herself, and Fleur didn't like to awake that in her trusted employee, but the severity of the matter, the shadow of a doubt where Flamel's working ground was involved, was enough to justify It.

"I'm sure I've read it somewhere," Milly scratched her chin.

"Flamel was very good at covering his tracks.”

 That at least was true. Fleur was often frustrated during her research. There was very little information about the man and his long-lived life.

"So you don't think we can find any trace of his work?"

"Very unlikely. His most famous experiments were performed on France."

Also true.

Still, the importance of what they could find sat heavily on her shoulders, and she made up her mind to keep the discoveries a secret for the time being.

It was a long shot anyway, and it was a measure for the sake of caution, more than anything. But no safe was safe enough, Fleur learned the hard way.

She waited a few more minutes, and pretended to watch Antonin and Joe, she even added a thing or two, for appearances.

Then, when she watched Milly start to collect samples from the ground, apparently dismissing her own stroke of az0 genius, Fleur cleared her throat.

"Team, gather up," she called. "Let's wrap it up for now. I think we did enough for the day."

She ignored their puzzled looks and started to collect her things to leave the mausoleum, prompting them to do the same.

"You go ahead, I'll stay back to seal the area. And not a single word about the mausoleum to anyone but me. Understood?"

 

* * *

 

 

She was at her office in a very normal day. She’d arrived at six thirty in the morning, because she had a thing: she had to arrive before and leave after anyone else at work. She’s done it during her whole career.

Fleur knew she had more to prove than anyone else. She was a French woman, and, to make things worse, a part-veela. So she had to be the best, she had to work harder to have at least the same recognition others would get by doing less. Fleur knew all of that.

So there she was, working in her office in a desert department, when somebody knocked on her door.

Well, not so normal, but sill pretty regular. People knocked on her door.

“Come in”, She called, averting her eyes from her paper to look at the least person she expected to see in a normal day.

“Fleur,” Bill was holding an envelope close to his chest, and almost looked as surprised as Fleur herself. “You didn’t change a thing.” He said with a small smile.

“You’ve changed a lot,” She retorted, taking in all the said change. His hair was longer, he had made a new tattoo, and he had this pendant of a red stone around his neck. “You can sit,” She said after it was clear the man was not certain of what to do next.

Bill sat across from her, dropping the envelop and a bag full of could only be coins, by the jingle it made when dropped to the desk.

“We sold Shell Cottage,” He said, apparently noticing the interest Fleur had taken on the objects. “This is the contract; I need your signature… and this is your share.”

Fleur looked up to see the man that once was the most important person for her in the whole world. He looked nice, with the hair and the tattoo, but also… his cheeks were redder, his shoulders, broader. He clearly had been working out and he had this glint in his eyes. He was happy.

Fleur breathed out, not sure how it all was supposed to make her feel. For almost nine months she hadn’t seen his ex-husband, and now he was there, looking happy and handsome, and handing her the papers for the selling of what used to be their home.

Fleur almost said he could have all the money, that she had plenty. Old Fleur, bitter about what her life had become because of a promotion, would’ve said, but instead, she signed the contract and pocketed the bag with a, “Thank you for coming all the way here. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

“No problem,” Bill said, his eyes scrutinizing her every move. “Came to see the folks, anyway.”

Fleur hummed, “I heard they’ve missed you.”

Bill shrugged, but Fleur was sure he had miss them either. He just needed time for himself more.

“I’m going back to Egypt,” He informed. “I got a promotion. Head of Treasuries.”

Fleur snickered and then, then she couldn’t help the humorless laugh.

Bill smiled at her, “I know. The irony, right?”

Fleur stared right into his eyes and she had so much to say. Things she practiced, whilst in the shower, like how he had been so mistaken, and how he was such a moronic asshole for making a good thing that happened to Fleur about him. But now, she didn’t want to say anything anymore. They would be over sooner or later. They weren’t right for each other in the end of the day.

But nothing of that matter anymore.

“Congratulations, Bill. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Fleur.”

They looked at each other and they got it. They would never be lovers again, never would be best friends, and maybe not even friends.

 But they were okay.

“So, where have you been this past few months?” Fleur asked as a peace offering.

Bill smiled.

“You know, all over. I spent some time in China, found some very interesting relics there, studied a lot about their culture and how the ancient preserved their dead. Then I went to India, just to help in an excavation, and then, believe it or now, Hawaii.”

Fleur smiled at his tales, “So, Hawaii is where you got that beautiful fire stone?”

Bill chuckled, “You noticed! Not everybody knows what a fire stone is. But yes, there is where I got it, and from an active volcano, mind you.”

Fleur hummed, “Liar…”

Bill laughed, “I have pictures!”

They stayed a moment in silence, and then Bill suddenly sobered up.

“I heard from a friend that the unseal of the veela catacomb didn’t go exactly as planned…” He started.

Fleur frowned. She remembered they would try to open the catacomb today, but… if something went wrong so fast… it had to be terrible.

“The girl, the veela, she managed to get inside to try to break the seal, but minutes later she left, screaming and well, out of herself. She shot some hexes here and there until they managed to control her.”

“Mon Dieu,” Fleur whispered. She knew it would not be an easy task to accomplish. And the fact that the girl entered and left out of herself, could only mean that the ancient veelas were probably still around, guarding the place. Would it be by memory? Ghosts? Representations of what they once were? No matter, not good. Not good at all.

“I came to warn you, Fleur.” Bill said, “And to advise you not to get involved.”

Fleur nodded. “You are right Bill. Thank you for stopping by.”

She got up in a clear indication that she now wanted to be alone.

Bill got her cue and got up too, collecting his belongings. “Wait, are you friends with Hermione? I saw you pretty friendly with her at the wedding.”

“Yes, she is my friend. Why?”

“Then I guess you should know… She was there for the unsealing, and she was one of the people the veela hit when she left the catacomb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in the update. Got caught up with some stuf... I'll try not to take too long for the next one, since it was kind of a cliffhanger here... SNS.  
> And thanks guys, for all yoir reviews. They always make me so happy.... keep 'em cooooming ahhaha  
> [makes me write faster]


	11. The pain was gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Dare to love (me):
> 
> The girl, the veela, she managed to get inside to try to break the seal, but minutes later she left, screaming and well, out of herself. She shot some hexes here and there until they managed to control her.”  
> “Mon Dieu,” Fleur whispered. She knew it would not be an easy task to accomplish. And the fact that the girl entered and left out of herself, could only mean that the ancient veelas were probably still around, guarding the place. Would it be by memory? Ghosts? Representations of what they once were? No matter, not good. Not good at all.  
> “I came to warn you, Fleur.” Bill said, “And to advise you not to get involved.”  
> Fleur nodded. “You are right Bill. Thank you for stopping by.”  
> She got up in a clear indication that she now wanted to be alone.  
> Bill got her cue and got up too, collecting his belongings. “Wait, are you friends with Hermione? I saw you pretty friendly with her at the wedding.”  
> “Yes, she is my friend. Why?”  
> “Then I guess you should know… She was there for the unsealing, and she was one of the people the veela hit when she left the catacomb.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” She complained when Ginny tried to fluff her pillow for the ninth time. “In fact, this hex is the least of my concerns.”

Ginny sat down on the bottom of her bed.

“Hey,” Ron entered the room. “Got you get better soon flowers!” He said excitedly, “So here,” he handed her a vase.

“Um,” Hermione stared at the flowers, “Thanks Ron. And thanks to whoever girl you are seeing right now for tipping you on it.”

Ron blushed. “She’s lovely, I’ll introduce her to you when…”

“When and if you decide that she is not just a meaningless shag?”

“That’s rude, Gin!” Hermione said, though she secretly agreed.

Ron cleared his throat.

“You make it sounds like I’m a man whore.”

“Which you are!”

“Am not!”

“Ron, Gin,” Hermione called.

“Just because I like to play the field a little bit before marrying, doesn’t mean I’m a whore!”

“You’ve never had a serious relationship, Ron.”

“Not everyone finds the one so bloody fast, okay?!”

“Weasleys,” Hermione said louder.

“Want me to fluff your pillow?”

“No,” She said quickly as Ginny approached. “No fluffing necessary, thank you.”

“It’s just. Now that you are here, I have something I need to tell you. I should’ve told you before, but I… I hope you can forgive me after hearing my reasoning.”

“’Mione,” Ron started, taking her hand. “Although I don’t understand why I couldn’t be trusted with a bottle of _felix felicis_ , I don’t mind you not giving me one after you perfected the brewing. Sure, I felt kind of betrayed, but hey, water under de bridge.”

Hermione’s chin dropped.

“And I don’t mind you find Gwenog Jones from the Holyhead Harpies hotter than me, Hermione. You have horrible taste, but I’m already taken, anyway…”

Oh. Okay, she was not expecting that.

“No, no, none of that is what I wanted to speak to you about.”

They eyed her with curiosity.

“I, what I meant to say, and I’m so sorry I haven’t yet is…”

“You are pregnant!” Ron interjected. “Mione I thought you were a lesbian!”

“She’s not pregnant Ron, her boobs are not larger,” Gin grabbed one boob, “Nop, not pregnant.”

“Givevra, unhand me!” Hermione slapped her hand away. “Let me talk, you two. Please. Ron, stop staring at my boobs!”

“Sorry…” He murmured, and that was it for trying to break the news slowly and calmly.

“I’m cursed. I have The curse, and I’ve known it for about two years.”

She expected some reaction, but they were watching her, unmoving. Ginny had a blank expression and Ron was frowning like he was trying to figure out what was his next move in chess.

So, she took a breath and kept on going.

“As I’ve said I should’ve told you before, but we were already so broken, you had lost a brother, everyone was devasted and struggling to move on, I didn’t want to be a nuisance, a reminder of darker times, I-”

“OH MY GOD!” Ron screamed, suddenly, like he cracked the code. “She’s hallucinating! Where are those nurses when we need them? Ginny, go fetch one!”

But Ginny wasn’t moving yet, she was staring Hermione dead in the eyes.

 “Ron,” Hermione started, swallowing hard to avoid the tears. “It’s not hallucinations, I’m really cursed.”

“What kind of hex hit you?” Rony said, “Surely it must be part of it. ‘Mione, how many fingers are here?” He shoved three fingers in front of her face.

“I’m sorry. I failed you. Please...”

“There is no way. What potions did they give you? Maybe one of them is making you confused…”

“I’m not confused by any potions nor by the hex. I’m cursed. I don’t have the worst symptoms yet. I’ve rationalized that in the final stages, it will inevitably affect my mind, but I’m not there yet.”

Ginny held her hand tight. And that just made the waterworks start.

“That’s it! I’m going to call the mediwitch, stay put.”

“Ronald,” Ginny shouted, startling them all. “Get your shit together.”

Ron took a good look at Hermione, and her hand connected to Ginny’s.

“No, you can’t be cursed, Mione.” He sat on her other side.

“But I am, Ron,” She looked at him and saw love reflected at her, love on the denial. And Hermione loved him so. She loved Ginny, and she loved Harry and she’s been selfish in her attempt at being selfless.

“Bloody hell,” Ron murmured. “but it’s okay, if anyone can figure out a cure, it’s you. It will be all right!” He said forcefully.

“Yes. I’ll find a cure,” She assured him, if not because she wanted to be sure, but at least for mercy. “I’ll do my best to live, I promise you.”

“And we’ll help, right, Gin?”

The girl nodded, “However we can.”

Hermione dried her last tears. It had been ok, more than ok. Perfect. There had been no object thrown around, or set on fire. Seems like Harry was exaggerating when he asked to not be present in the moment she told them.

“I’m glad you are here with me. Harry will be pleased that I’ve told you two, maybe after I’m out of the hospital we can all have di-”

“Harry knows?” Ginny hissed, getting up.

Hermione realized her mistake as Ron suddenly stood up too, his hands clenching into fists.

“Harry knows?” Ginny repeated, a little louder. “I’m going to kill him,” The redhead yelled.

“And I’m going to help you!”, Ron yelled back.

Hermione stared at the two pissed off redheads in front of her.

Oh, okay.

Maybe she celebrated too soon.

* * *

 

 

It was about one hour before Ron was back.

Hermione put down the book she was reading as the redhead started to pace.

“This is not right, Hermione.”

“I know. I feel horrible for keeping this secret.” She sighed.

“Not that,” Ron corrected. “I don’t approve you keeping this from us, but I… I suppose I can accept it. For you.”

Hermione felt ashamed. Her friend deserved more credit. All of them.

She was not new to keeping secrets. In fact, she’s done it more times than she could count, and in several of those occasions, people hadn’t found out until she decided they would. And she never once felt bad about it. Individuals were their own, and they had rights over their lives and what they would share with people.

But this time it was different. Not because it was a life or death matter – she’s also had bunch of those.

But because, if she were to be honest, truly honest, she was, more than preoccupied in being altruist – she was afraid. If she told people she was cursed, her life would forever change, and not because it was being cut short. Because she would never be able to live it fully. She would never be able to forget, just for a second, she was doomed.

And it scared the shit out of her.

“Then,” She cleared her throat, “What is not right?”

“All of it! It’s not fair, is it? After everything!” The man spat.

Hermione shrugged.

“May be so, but it doesn’t change anything.”

He was still pacing.

“It makes no sense.”

Hermione took a good look at her friend, and it didn’t look like he was questioning the curse anymore. So she waited.

“What I can’t comprehend, you were as exposed as Harry and I were. You wore the horcrux, you destroyed one, how do you have the curse? Ginny was possessed, Hermione. By _him_. And she’s also not cursed!”

Hermione have made the same questions over and over again. Not because she wanted her friends to be cursed, but because – why her?

They knew exposure to dark magic, that related to Voldemort, cursed people. But why specifically her? Was her organism more prone to this? Had it been a random infliction, to complete the purpose of control? Was the fact that it had no pattern part of what made the curse so fearsome, was it intentional?

 Why, why her?

She had wondered a thousand times, because to understand that was a way to start to figure out how to cure it.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said honestly. “I don’t know why me, or what happened in the way.”

Ron took a breath and finally settled down on the chair beside Hermione. His eyes were pushing. He knew that there was something Hermione wasn’t saying.

“I-” After tracing the past back so many times, she came to _one_ conclusion, that maybe wasn’t even right. “There was this occurrence. At Malfoy Manor.” She needn’t say no more.

Ron hastily looked away.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Mione,” He started, and even though Hermione couldn’t see his face, she knew he was crying. “I couldn’t protect you, I did nothing as you were… I-”

“Stop it, Ron,” Hermione said gently, and moved on the bed to be closer to him. She touched his chest and he looked back at her, his eyes glistening.

“Don’t ever think this is your fault again,” She stated kindly, but decisively. “First because it’s not. And then because, well, I couldn’t bear it.”

Ron covered her hand with his and, after a moment, he nodded.

“You are so bloody smart, it’s annoying” He said, trying to lighten the mood. “You will find a cure.”

Hermione smiled, and she could see so clearly Ron was trying to convince himself.

“I will. I promised you, didn’t I?”

He nodded again.

“I brought my chessboard,” Ron waved his wand and it appeared before them.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling. She was going to lose spectacularly, and that was okay.

“Tell me about your new girl,” Hermione asked in the middle of the game, already a horse and a queen down.

“She is a fine girl,” Ron answered as he killed one of her bishops. “She’s cute, she laughs at my jokes.”

“Oh, my,” Hermione quipped, retreating her other bishop. “She’s a keeper.”

Ron scoffed before smirking at her.

“She makes me feel good about myself, and she’s attentive,” Ron continued.

Hermione nodded, approving, “This is very important.”

He stared at the chessboard and shook his head.

“She’s nice. But…”

“But what?”

“She is not you.”

Hermione felt her chest constrict, a lump forming in her throat.

She had been so brave the past couple of days. She had told her friends. She had faced her fears. She was determined in finding a cure, and, not to mention, she was in a freaking hospital because she’s been so invested in it!

But when Ron made it seem like they were unfinished business, well, Hermione didn’t feel brave. She felt guilty. Even though she was plenty aware she’s done nothing to be blamed for. But mostly, she felt impotent. There was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do for Ron to make it better.

Except avoid the subject at all costs and let time do its job.

“Ron…” Hermione started, the warning very clear.

“I know,” He said fast. “I know, ‘Mione. It’s just hard to find the right girl when you are the one to compare, y’know?”

“Oh,” She closed her hands in fists, and she couldn’t say it didn’t hurt. It hurt her badly, not being able to be who they needed her to be. Hermione was in peace with who she was, but still…

She was about to say she was sorry, once again, when Ron cut her.

“Come on,” He smiled at her, even though it was a little forced, “That was a compliment. Don’t ever apologize.”

Hermione took a trembling breath.

“We are all gonna be okay.” He assured her.

“Even if we need some therapy,” She concurred.

“What now?!”

* * *

 

 

Hermione had a dreamless sleep. But her face suddenly burned, and all was bright and red, and the smell… it was spring and it was summer and it was…

“Fleur?” She called hoarsely, squinting her eyes and trying to open them to focus.

“Hello, Hermione.”

She abruptly tried to adjust herself on her bed, the sudden movement making her hurt, and a gentle hand touched her shoulder to keep her down.

“Don’t be foolish,” Fleur said teasingly. “I’ll come to you, no need to jump into my arms just yet.”

Hermione beamed, even though she was very much in pain.

“You are so pretentious, I can’t even…”

Fleur chuckled and finally Hermione was able to see all of her. Her blonde hair around her like a halo, her sparkling blue eyes, and that mischievous smile. The blonde sat on the bed beside her.

She looked up and saw Fleur had adjusted her curtains, letting the sun bathe her. But that warmth… it was all Fleur.

“How did you find me here?” Hermione asked, still surprised at the visit.

“Haven’t you heard bad news travel fast?” Fleur seemed to be scrutinizing her, eyes running up and down her body.

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione supplied.

There was a moment of silence.

“Whatever did you get yourself into?” Fleur murmured.

“Work. My company had interest in what the catacombs could reveal,” Hermione answered, frowning as she saw concern paint Fleur’s beautiful features. “I’m fine,” she reassured.

Fleur hummed and her hand cupped Hermione’s cheek.

Her eyes widened, not expecting the gesture.

“You British…” Fleur smiled at her prude ways and Hermione scoffed at her.

Fleur’s hand moved down to her chest, and her heart thumped harder. Fleur made some pressure, and her face looked focused, not teasing anymore.

“I see you still carry some remnants of _her_ ,” Fleur said with a grimace, her lips curling downward.

Hermione blinked.

“Pardon me?”

Fleur huffed and she was so transparent in her distaste, never a woman to keep her feelings for herself, and Hermione adored her for it.

It seemed like freedom.

“The veela who hit you.”

“Oh,” Hermione was frowning again. “It was just a hex, they are being overcautious. I should have been discharged by now.”

“Are you in pain?” Fleur didn’t even bat an eyelash.

Hermione hesitated, “No.”

The blonde hummed understandingly, and Hermione almost thought she’d bought it until a finger jabbed a spot just above her stomach.

She yelped, contorting in pain, “What the-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Fleur actually scolded her, and Hermione blushed. “I said I can sense you still carry some aftershock of the veela’s magic!”

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“You said no such thing!”

Fleur looked at her and Hermione couldn’t tell she was exasperated or concerned. She just knew she wanted to wipe that expression off her face.

Preferably with her mouth.

Fleur narrowed her eyes at her, like she could read her thoughts, and a smirk formed on her lips.

“When you were hexed, some ancient magic, veela magic, was canalized into the spell,” The woman explained. “The healers probably sensed some alteration in your energy flux. I don’t know if they recognized what it is or not.”

Hermione tilted her head. It made sense. As strong as the hex was, it was not the kind that left magic traces after it was healed,  as it was aimed at making immediate damage.

“It will dissipate,” Fleur continued. “But this is what is causing you pain, there is no counter spell to fasten the process.”

“That is no problem,” Hermione swallowed, putting a brave face. “It’s not that painful.”

Fleur smiled adoringly at her, and Hermione felt like she was a kid with a bleeding knee that insisted it didn’t hurt so they could keep playing.

It was not a nice thought to have in front of the woman she currently wanted to kiss senseless.

The glint in the blonde’s eyes changed rapidly, and, bloody hell, wasn’t she really reading her thoughts?

“Maybe there is something I could do, though,” Fleur started softly, and a shiver went down Hermione’s spine. As gentler as Fleur was, there was no mistake she was starting to look positively predatory. Hermione recognized that stance – like a cat ready to pounce at its defenseless victim.

She found out she didn’t quite care.

“Is there?” How come she was already breathless?

“Oh yes,” Fleur’s hand stopped at her sternum, “There is a rather… unconventional method to alleviate that pain.”

“Oh,” Heat was already radiating from the spot Fleur was touching her, and Hermione was eager to hear more about it, “What method?”

“A veela method to deal with veela magic,” Fleur seemed professorial now, a very, very hot professor. “I should warn you, though, it’s quite… intimate.”

“I believe,” Hermione expelled the air from her lungs. “I believe we could try it.”

“Do I have your permission?” Fleur’s face got closer to her, and her blue eyes stared intently at hers, imploring, demanding.

“Yes,” Her lips trembled in anticipation.

She expected to be touched when Fleur slowly uncovered her. She expected some skin contact…

She didn’t quite expect the woman’s hands, instead of proceeding to touching, started to hover just an inch over her body.

She definitely didn’t expect the heat that was focused on her chest to spread. To her neck. To her cheeks, arms and fingertips, to her belly and _down_.

Hermione moaned.

“Wha-What,” The heat pushed, and it had to come from within, but still every hair of her body bristled.

“When handling veela’s magic,” Fleur purred at her, her eyes never moving away from hers. “Only a veela can… manipulate it.”

Hermione let out a trembling breath as she recognized the wetness right _there_.

“See, veelas are quite primal beings,” The woman was talking in this sultry voice and Hermione’s head was spinning. “We deal with instinct and with… I’m sure you are figuring it out first-handed.”

The heat seemed to caress all of her body, before it pressed on her sex.

“What are you _doing_?” She managed to ask, her voice raspy.

“Moving the veela magic inside of you,” Fleur answered like it was nothing. “With my own.”

Hermione moaned again, her legs quivering, and she could feel like Fleur was all over her, touching, licking, biting. But she was not. Her hands were still an inch away from her skin.

Fleur was almost shining. The sexual energy in the room, she could sense it. God, she could smell it. The woman did look primal, like she was taking her in the most primitive of ways.

And she loved every second of it.

“I’m opening your first chakra, _cherie_.” Fleur’s breath found her skin and Hermione was not in position to understand anything anymore. “To let it all out.”

She could just feel as the sensations became too much, it was bliss. Her eyes shut, her insides on fire, her moist sex contracting, and the heat, the heat too much, building up in a crescendo until she had no choice but to… let it all out. Perhaps a little loud as her body rocketed above the bed.

When it was over, Hermione almost didn’t manage to breathe. She had to make a conscient effort, and all of her limbs went limp. It was only when a single kiss was pressed on her mouth, she opened her eyes and saw Fleur looking at her with sparkling eyes.

The pain was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoooow it took me so long. Thank you so much for the reviews last chapter, I guess it was the most reviewed so far. Yey!  
> So, about this chapter: I thought great progress in general.  
> Let me know your thoughts.  
> Was it too weird?  
> hahaha  
> see you soon


	12. I'm a little damaged

“How did this happen?” Hermione asked with a smile, a sheet covering her naked body. She was laying on the bottom of the bed, her feet propped on the pillow; Fleur, on the other hand, was opposite of her, sat with her back pressing against the headboard of the bed and trying to catch Hermione’s right foot as Hermione squirmed out of the way without kicking the blonde’s face.

“I believe that after a successful and rough session of scissoring you became too tired to come back and lay by my side, so now I have no other option but to punish you with tickles.”

Hermione laughed and wondered if she was blushing. The more time she spent with the other woman, the more she got used to her shameless, shameless ways.

“Not that!” Now she did kick the woman’s shoulders, a mistake she soon realized she’d made as Fleur successfully grabbed her leg and started to tickle her foot.

The woman was merciless, but Hermione would not beg (she begged) and would not scream (she screamed) and would not perform wandless magic to make Fleur stop her torture (the woman in question was now staring at her slightly burned hands in astonishment), and foremost would not feel bad for her captor (she quickly performed a cooling charm on Fleur’s precious hand and she was still looking bewildered). Obviously, she wasn’t also apologizing.

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly, and Fleur stared at her for a moment before starting to laugh.

Baffled, Hermione nudged her with her toe, but Fleur just kept laughing as she all but turned on the bed to lay beside Hermione, her silver-blonde hair cascading down and out the bed.

“You are unbelievable,” The blonde said, planting a kiss on her lips.

Hermione scoffed, but this time she knew she had blushed.

“What did you mean, then?” Fleur asked.

“Hm?” Hermione was looking at the woman’s naked, perky, rosy, perfect breasts.

The woman in question chuckled and placed a finger on her chin to force her to look back at her eyes.

“Before, you’ve said ‘How did this happen?’, and was not talking about our hot, sweltering, sex?”

“Oh,” Hermione looked down at her own hands, strangely realizing her nerve was gone. Not very griffindor of her, but still, she couldn’t see herself resuming the subject. “I forgot,” She lied.

It was flimsy of her, to let out the question in the first place. Did she even wanted to know how _they_ ’ve happened and happened so fast and so strong? Was it the right time? Was there a right time to even question what was she and Fleur doing and becoming?

Fleur sighed as she looked up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, _chérie_ , it’s a puzzle for me too.”

Of course. Fleur already knew what she was referring to and, also, caught her lie. Well, she has never been a great liar.

“You’ve just divorced,” Hermione pointed out.

“You wanted to sneak out on me on our first time,” Fleur reminded her.

Hermione expelled the air from her lungs, and shot a sideway glance at Fleur to catch her staring at her. She turned on her side and returned the courtesy, immersing herself in blue, expressive eyes.

Hermione was tongue-tied and that was never a good sigh. She wondered if she should leave, but something about those eyes made her stay. She could read Fleur, and that never ceased the amaze her. Has it always been always like that, and she’s only just noticed it that night, months ago, on that muggle bar? Or it was because the woman was vulnerable, much like her, and she could relate to it so well?

Was it vulnerability that connected them?

“I’m a little damaged, Fleur,” Hermione had to warn her sometime, right?

“And I’ve just divorced,” The blonde didn’t even blink as she repeated Hermione’s words back at her.

Hermione took a trembling breath, and even though she was on her own home, she had a voice in the back of her head to tell her to just bolt. That voice kept getting lower and lower as Fleur touched her, just with her fingertips at first, and then she cupped her cheek and left a butterfly kiss on the tip of her nose.

“We all have a part of us that is broken, Hermione,” The blonde said softly, and Hermione was hooked back to her time in the Shell Cottage. She’s seen gentle, kind, caring Fleur before, and yet, she had never _seen_ Fleur, had she? Not how she saw her now.

And what she saw was such a _beautiful_ sight, she never wanted to stop looking.

Hermione’s heart beat fast and it could be because she was terrified of what that meant. Could also be because Fleur had just glued their bodies together. 

“Tell me about Bill,” She regretted a second after the words left her mouth, but now it was out, and too late.

Fleur froze on their embrace for a moment and then Hermione felt her breath on the side of her ear.

“We were over long before we divorced, is there more you want me to tell?” She murmured and Hermione closed her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

She felt Fleur inhale and exhale on her neck, and it was more comfortable that way. She didn’t want to see what Fleur had to say in her eyes and she definitely didn’t want to expose hers.

After a beat, Fleur was murmuring softly again, her voice almost caressing Hermione’s ears.

“I was happy with him at first. He was the man of my dreams, and it took me a while to realize that man only existed in my imagination, or maybe in a time disconnected to our reality. We just weren’t right for each other and this is all that is.”

There were peculiarities, of course. Details about how everything unrolled. Hermione didn’t quite care at that moment, though, as Fleur’s hand started to entangle in her hair. The despair was gone, but there was some fright there, inside her, if Hermione looked deep enough. It was not a fright she’d thought she would have after discovering her curse. What a strange feeling.

“I had a lot of one-night stands before we got together,” She thought she had to give something back, as little as it was.

Fleur hummed, but her hand stilled on her hair and that fright tugged at Hermione’s heart until Fleur’s hand resumed her ministrations.

“Do you still?” The question was impassive, and Hermione almost, _almost_ bought it.

“No,” She said easily enough, despite that one word being grander than a simple answer. Hermione wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. Whatever did that mean?

 A lot, even she could admit that.

“Wipe that smug smirk off your face,” Hermione blurted. She was not seeing Fleur, but she could picture it so well.

Fleur chuckled and rolled over her until she was on top, and _staring_. She then lowered and lowered until her mouth covered hers, all lips and tongue and pearly teeth.

That is, until a loud crack ringed through the house, followed by a distinct sound of someone tripping and cursing.

They were up and dressed in a second, and, before any of them could go check on who was clearly an intruder on the apartment, Draco Malfoy banged the door open.

He was paler than Hermione has ever seen him, his bottom lip trembling.

“Draco?” She hasted towards him and grabbled his shoulders. “Are you ok?”

He looked at her wide-eyed and mumbled, frantic, “Astoria.”

Hermione turned to Fleur with an apologetic look, but the woman simply said, “Go.”

And she went, Draco firm in her grasp as they apparated.

Draco’s never been so quiet, but he was moving fast and Hermione didn’t press him, though ever fiber in her being begged for her to demand answers.

Draco and Astoria’s house was no Malfoy Manor, but the corridors seemed impossibly long as they ran through it, the portraits gossiping and rustling and shouting things Hermione didn’t even needed to hear to conclude something terrible was happening.

She already knew the path they were taking. When Draco found out Astoria’s curse, he had an infirmary built at home, more impressive and equipped than any St. Mungus’ room.

Narcissa Malfoy was looking like a ward in front of the door of the infirmary. Her tall figure standing still as she watched as her son and Hermione approached.

Her eyes locked with Hermione, with no animosity anymore, but a caution that Hermione shared all too well. A shiver ran through her spine and she thought she would never get accustomed to see Draco’s mom in her life. But she was on alert mode and Narcissa, somehow, didn’t rattle her that much.

“Ms. Granger, please,” Narcissa whispered for her ears only as she opened the door for them, and Hermione sucked in a breath, both at the unimaginable plea she’d just heard and the sight before her.

Astoria was at the bed, her legs spread and a crimson stained sheet covering her. The woman suddenly let out a piercing cry that froze Hermione’s very soul. She glanced around to see the team of mediwizards and witches surrounding the newest lady Malfoy.

Hermione needed only a second to act, fastening her hair in an improvised ponytail and motioning to one of the medical staff to prepare her with sterilizing spells and clothes.

“What is happening here?” She asked impassively, approaching Astoria.

The woman was sweeting and, as Hermione went to touch her forehead, the woman grasped hard on her hand, blood-shot eyes turning to look at her without even seeing her, eyes of someone who was not aware of anything anymore.

“We believe she’s reaching the late stage of the curse,” A mediwitch said, “She’s bleeding out her uterus.”

Hermione had to contain her gasp. She’s studied this tirelessly. She has seen in the literature what happened to those cursed women who dreamed of becoming mothers. They bled it all out until they were barren.

But to witness it, and to someone dear to her... It broke her heart.

So, so cruel. There was no other word. Harrowingly, terrifyingly _cruel_.

“We are ministering pain concealers and replacing the blood she’s losing. But none of our methods are slowing or stopping the process.”

The mediwitch in charge was actually the head of the medical department of her company. One of the most gifted, intelligent woman she knew, and she couldn’t even slow the process.

“The ovary?” She asked hurriedly.

“Damaged.”

“Draco,” she called, and the man stumbled forward, his face frightened as he stared at his wife.

“Draco,” Hermione said again, forcing him to look at her. “We’ve discussed this, remember? What we’d do in this situation?”

The man nodded and all she wanted to do was hug him for dear life.

“We’ll get as much ovules, egg cells, as we can, and we will do our very, very best to keep her safe, do you understand?”

Draco nodded again and Hermione was turning around when a raspy voice called her back.

“Hermione, if you’ll have to choose…” He whispered, and he was do vulnerable.

“It will be Astoria, always,” She assured him, and he inhaled deeply.

“Please,” Draco’s voice broke and Hermione couldn’t hear him anymore. She had to be strong, she had to focus.

“Wait by your mother,” She said softly and Draco nodded the last time before retreating.

“Okay,” She said to the team. “Let’s all get ready to start the harvest.”

The team gathered around, as Hermione used a kind of ultrasound spell, that showed, like a projection, what was happening inside of Astoria. She zoomed the projected image until it was at a microscopic level.

Following it like a map, the mediwitch in charge pointed her wand and started the harvest, but, as the cells reached the mid portion of her vaginal canal, it disintegrated in form of micro bleedings. 

“This is not working,” Hermione decided. “The magic is probably altering the ph of her reproductive system.”

The mediwitch nodded, but still she was trying to collect the eggs.

“The bleeding is increasing,” The woman said. “Soon we won’t be able to see anything.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a second. Soon, very soon they would have to remove all that was left of her reproductive organs, or she would lose too much blood. That was a limited number of times they could use the blood transfusion spell before it intoxicated Astoria.

She had to make a call. She looked at the oblivious, anguished woman in front of her.

“How much time we have left?”

“Ten to twenty minutes, it’s hard to say.”

Hermione swallowed dry before watching yet another bunch of cells liquify. She narrowed her eyes. The ph couldn’t be so acid as to melt metal, could it? That was only one way to know.

One way that had never been tested, but it wasn’t hard to do so.

The waved her wand and a tray of muggle instruments appeared. The mediwitch and the nurses stopped a moment to look at it curiously.

“Those are muggle tools,” The woman pointed out the obvious.

The nurse let out a squeal, “That’s brilliant!”

“Are you familiarized with this?” Hermione turned to look at the woman.

“My father is a gynecologist,” The nurse answered promptly. “I’ve seen it done a couple of times.”

“Excellent, come forward, please.” Hermione extended the correct instrument to her.

The medwitch frowned, but didn’t question it as the nurse took her place.

The woman seemed nervous, but eager as she took the offering.

“Get me those twenty minutes,” Hermione looked seriously at the mediwitch, her voice imperative.

“I’ll do my best.”

Hermione wanted to make the woman promise but she knew that nothing they were doing could be guaranteed.

“Do you know the steps?” She had studied all the procedure as they were developing a way to harvest the eggs.

The nurse nodded, but still, Hermione instructed: “gently guide the needle attached to the catheter through the vaginal wall. If done correctly, one by one, the eggs will be drawn out through a light suction.”

They all watched in awe as the eggs came out intact through the suction.

“Let’s get ready to freeze it. Do it through the cryotech method.”

The team looked utterly confused, but Hermione’s came prepared, with all the devices ready. She did that part herself, and watched proudly the eggs on its vials. She turned to the mediwitch.

“It’s with you, now.”

The woman plastered Astoria’s abdomen with a potion that worked as anesthesia and, with an expert move of her want, made a vertical cut.

The rest of the procedure was pretty standard.

They removed all of her reproductive organs, and performed a spell that replaced all of her blood. A very, very delicate spell that could only be used once. At the end of it, they could, without affecting Astoria’s health, minister a sleep potion to her, so she could rest.

Then, it was over.

It was fucking over.

Thank God.

“It’s done. We’ve got the eggs and she’s going to recover well,” Hermione approached Draco and Narcissa, a tired smile on her face. She was sweating and she was drained, but she was also so content, it didn’t even matter.

“Is she?” Draco said hurriedly, “Are you sure?”

“She’s sleeping, and all the procedures went fine. She’s going to have a mediwizard and a nurse watching her overnight, to care for her if needed.”

“But she’s going to live?” He pressed.

“I believe so,” She placed her hand on his shoulder. She wished she could swear on it, but she couldn’t.

He nodded, catching what she meant.

“Can I see her?” Draco urged, his eyes wide. He wanted to check himself, and Hermione would do the same in his position.

“Of course,” She said softly.

He took a step forward before turning to her.

“What could I ever do to repay you?” Draco was open and honest, Hermione could see the emotion in his eyes as it started to water.

“Give your wife beautiful babies,” She replied, a wide smile stretching across her face.

Then, without a warning, the man lunched to hug her, and she held tight as she heard his raged breaths on her ear.

“Now go see Astoria,” She encouraged gently.

Draco nodded on her shoulder and turned again, this time without looking back.

Hermione almost forgot she was addressing Narcissa too, when the woman spoke.

“Would you care for a nightcap, Hermione?”

It was the first time the blonde called her by her given name, and, although Narcissa Malfoy gave her the creeps, she appreciated it.

“I-” She was going to decline it, as surprising as it was. She was always up for a drink this days, but she was so damn tired…

“Maybe a cup of tea?” The woman insisted and Hermione looked deeply at her eyes. There was gratitude there, she could see it so well. Perhaps that was the way the other could show it.

She almost accepted it, but there was another pressing matter that was nudging inside her head.

Astoria came very, very close to die that very afternoon. At some point, Hermione thought the woman wasn’t going to make it.

It made it so much more, real, didn’t it?

“Thanks, I think I’m going to head home, but…” She trailed off. It was hard for her. Possibly the hardest thing she’d have to do after the war.

“Yes?” Narcissa arched one eyebrow.

Hermione couldn’t bare to do it today. She was in an urgent need to go home. To her bed. To a movie. To a hot meal. To anything but where she currently was.

She took a deep breath.

“Bellatrix’s room at the Malfoy Manor,” She started, her throat instantly constricting at the mere mention of the degenerated woman. “What did you do to it?”

There. She asked.

Narcissa’s face hardened. Whatever was she was expecting to hear, that was certainly not it.

“It’s closed,” The woman murmured. “We’ve never touched it after the war ended.”

Narcissa Malfoy looked as ashamed as Narcissa Malfoy could look ashamed. It was subtle, but Hermione got it when the woman cleared her throat and moved her eyes to look at some spot above Hermione’s shoulder.

“If you don’t mind,” She forced the words out. “I’d like to explore it a little. For my research.”

Hermione didn’t need to say that she wanted to investigate the origins of the curse. What could’ve caused it, a clue… anything. Narcissa nodded like she understood it. Maybe she’d at some point, thought of it herself. It was not farfetched, was it?

“Anytime,” The woman answered after a deep inhale of breath. It couldn’t possibly be easy for her, too, Hermione supposed.

“Right, thanks,” Hermione fought the urge to look down. “I’ll owl you.”

 Narcissa nodded.

“And I’ll help you to the best of my abilities.”

The offer came to her as a surprise, but maybe it shouldn’t. Narcissa Malfoy was greatly devoted to Draco, and Hermione, well… now she was probably in her very best regard.

“Thank you, Narcissa.” She repaid the courtesy and called the woman by her first name as well.

“Of course,” The blonde replied.

“Please, send my best to Draco and Astoria, and don’t hesitate to call me if needed.”

“That’s very kind. I’ll pass the message along.”

She tilted her head, gesturing that she’d leave. But, before she could, Narcissa had one last thing to say.

“I cannot thank you enough, Hermione.”

She smiled, “I did nothing Draco wouldn’t do for me.” As preposterous this would sound some years ago, it was true.

 As Hermione made her way out, her satisfaction had all but deflated. She could still see Astoria anguishing before her, her blood spilling in gushes, her eyes rolling up in madness.

She could feel her blood cold and her hands trembling at the thought of the task she had ahead of her: looking though Bellatrix belongings, exploring the room of her torturer.

But, more than that: It was perpetuated in her mind the image of Draco, so out of himself, lost and broken at the possibility of losing his loved one.

Hermione felt like carrying the world on her shoulders as she made it to the gate. She couldn’t ever inflict that kind of pain Draco experienced on someone. She couldn’t even risk it.

Her mind was made up by the time she apparated home.

Her burden was hers and hers alone.  

She’d had to end whatever she had with Fleur. Before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.  
> So, this chapter took me longer than I planned. As always, life has a way of happening to us, and we can't escape, can we?  
> Well, but I'm back, back, back, back again (if you caught the reference I'll mail you a cookie!)  
> Anyway, I hope you like it. I'll try not to take too long to update, don't want you to get all bothered with me.
> 
> Please share your thoughts? 
> 
> PS: OH! I DON'T UNDERSTAND SHIT ABOUT MEDICINE, SO IF IT'S NOT ACCURATE... WELL, OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS......


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